


Delictum

by Caligacal



Series: Crudelis [1]
Category: Jacksepticeye (RPF), Markiplier (RPF), Septiplier-Fandom, Youtube RPF
Genre: Abduction, Criminal Sean McLoughlin, Deceit, Detective Mark Fischbach, Gangs, Gore, Hostage Situations, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mark Fischbach - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Minor Sexual Assualt, Original Characters - Freeform, Robbery, Sean McLoughlin - Freeform, Self-Doubt, Torture, blackmailing, cops and robbers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:59:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 73,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10043810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caligacal/pseuds/Caligacal
Summary: Mark Fischbach is a young detective in the city of Los Angeles. For three weeks he's been trying to crack a case involving numerous break-ins and theft. It doesn't seem like such a big deal until a man is murdered. And then suddenly, a man matching the description of the thief is arrested. This thief seems cocky, cool, and arrogant. Mark interrogates him, desperate to get out of the rut of the case that he's been stuck in.And that's where it all goes wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

Mark Edward Fischbach sat in his office, sipping on a cup of coffee as he studied a file laid across his desk. His deep brown eyes flicked here and there as he absorbed as much information as he could. Taking another sip of the piping hot liquid in his mug, he sighed and leaned back in his chair.

The dark haired detective turned his gaze to the ceiling. This case was going nowhere. There had been a series of small break-ins in the higher class residential area nearby, and the threat they posed was becoming worse. The suspect was said to be a young man with a thick accent, but no one had really any clues as to what he looked like. Which was frustrating. The scary thing was was that these break-ins had started out small; jewelry, electronics, things of that nature had only been stolen. But now the prizes this criminal was taking were getting larger. For instance, an entire entertainment center was stolen. The TV, DVD player, remote, game console, controllers, everything was gone. And then there was a car. A red Mustang to be exact. The police department found the car later, but it had already gone down the criminal chain and had been bought and sold by several thugs, leaving it in rough shape.

And then there came the murder. The first murder to result in one of these crimes. It hadn’t looked like a purposeful murder, simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Poor fella. Shot five times in the chest. He was dead within the first two, meaning the shooter was either startled or frightened.

 

Mark rubbed his face with his hands, his fingers scratching at the scruff on his chin. The case had been ongoing for three weeks now, and people were asking questions. Why couldn’t the police catch this guy? Were there more people involved? The detective shook his head, trying to ease his slight headache.

“Curse it all,” he mumbled.

A slight knock echoed throughout his office and he looked up. A tall, thick man with an impressive beard was leaning against the door frame, giving him a curious smirk.

“You lookin’ over the 207 file?”

Mark nodded and glanced back at the papers scattered all over his desk. “Yeah. It still irks me that we haven’t caught this bastard yet.”

The man scoffed and shifted his weight. “Y’know Mark, perhaps you should head home. You were here kinda late last night. Why not go home and sleep on it?”

“Ken, you know that I don’t like to leave early. It’s unprofessional.”

Ken smirked. “Well, as your superior officer, I order you to go home.”

“But Ken-”

“No buts,” Ken said, cutting Mark off completely. Mark glared at his co-worker as he grinned. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Fischbach!” The toasty detective pushed himself away from the door frame and disappeared around the corner.

 

Mark grumbled as he gathered up his papers and shoved them into his briefcase.

“Damn that Kenneth,” he muttered. He snatched his jacket off the back of his chair and shut down his office, turning off the lights and closing the door. His shoes made a satisfying clunk clunk on the polished linoleum floor as he made his way towards the entrance. When he reached the main lobby, he glanced at the clock that hung behind the huge oak desk that served as the receptionist desk. 6:32 PM. Wonderful. He was clocking out an hour and a half early. Mark shook his head as he strode towards the desk.

Sitting behind it was a young woman with brunette hair and glasses. She lifted her blue eyes up to meet him as he set his elbow on the marble counter top.

“Oh, hello there Mr. Fischbach! Headed out?”

“Please, Cindy, just call me Mark. But yeah, I’m headed home.”

The young woman gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

He waved it off. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Well, I’ll sign you out then. You coming in tomorrow?” There was a hint of laughter on her voice. Mark couldn’t help but chuckle himself.

“Yeah, I’ll be in tomorrow. I’ve got to try and figure this damn 207 out.”

“Ah, the 207 case,” Cindy tapped a delicate finger on her chin. “Have you guys come up with a better name for it? Numbers are kind of hard to remember, don’tcha think?”

Mark shrugged. “Sure, but we hope we don’t have to give it a name. We want to wrap it up quick.”

“Right, right. That does make sense.” She shook her head. “Well, you have yourself a good evening, Mark.”

“Same to you Cindy.”

Mark gave a simple raised-hand wave and made his way towards the big glass doors. As he stepped into the fading afternoon sunlight, he caught sight of a police car parked a bit further down the street. Two deputies were hauling someone from the backseat. _Ah, another criminal._ Mark watched as the deputies, a middle-aged man and a young woman, struggled to keep their hold on the arrested fella. 

He seemed to be a young man, maybe mid-twenties. He wore a faded red long-sleeved shirt and faded skinny jeans along with red converse. A large portion of the top of his head was dyed electric green, and the green hair hung wildly over his right eye.

Mark studied him as the officers brought him closer. They were gripping his arms hard as he struggled against the cuffs that held his wrists behind his back. As the trio started up the stone steps that led to the entrance, the criminal’s head snapped in Mark’s direction. The two locked eyes for a moment, and Mark caught a glimpse of startling blue eyes that were bright with fury.

The young female deputy caught sight of Mark too and jerked her chin in greeting.

“Hey Mark, how ya doing?”

“Oh good, I guess. How about yourself?”

She shrugged slightly as the criminal in her grasp struggled some more. “Oh y’know, same ol’ same ol’.”

Mark chuckled as the older deputy turned his gaze towards him. “Hey Mark. Good to see ya. Dodger, let’s hurry up and get this guy inside.”

Mark waved to them as they continued into the station. The captive man jerked his head towards Mark on last time before he disappeared into the building.

 

Mark shrugged off the encounter. _They’ll investigate him, nail him guilty or innocent, and he’ll spend a night in a cell either way._ The young detective shoved his left hand in his pocket while swinging his briefcase lazily in the other.

 

Mark made it to his apartment in one piece. He had picked up some Chinese on the way over and planned to eat it in front of his television. Once he had changed into some sweatpants and a comfy T-shirt, he flopped onto his couch with his rice and orange chicken. He flipped lazily through the channels until he settled on a show that featured two brothers fighting monsters. Very enthralling. 

As the clock on his phone flashed 9:30, Mark set aside his empty Chinese boxes and reached for the complementary fortune cookie. As he removed the wrapper, his mind wandered to the green-haired fellow he had seen today. _Strange, why do I think of him now? He’s just a common criminal._ Mark mindlessly removed the plastic wrapper and snapped the cookie in half. He turned his attention back to it as he stuffed the empty half into his mouth and pulled the small slip of paper out of the other. As he crunched the cookie, he read the words silently.

_Your whole world is about to change._

He flipped it over. _27, 2, 87, 28, 7, 6_

Mark thought nothing of it and tossed the paper into one of the empty boxes. He then stretched, the muscles in his arms and back rippling, and popped the remaining half of the cookie in his mouth. It was time for bed, for he had an early morning. Releasing a yawn, the young man turned off the TV and tossed his trash in the bin.

As he retreated to his room, he paused in the bathroom to wash his face. As he patted his skin dry with a towel, he glanced at the mirror. There were dark bags under his eyes and he noticed his eyes looked a bit dull. All the stress from trying to find this burglar was taking its toll on him. He shook his head and left the bathroom, turning off the light.

Once he was in the cozy perimeter of his bedroom, he shut the door and flopped onto the bed. Reaching over, he grabbed his phone off of the night stand and checked social media. Nothing exciting was happening, so he closed the apps and set the phone down. Mark sighed and turned the lamp off with a soft click, dousing the room in darkness. He crawled under the comforter and relaxed. Sleep overtook him quickly.

 

The next morning, he woke up feeling refreshed and energized. Once he had showered and got himself a coffee, he was headed to work. It was going to be a good day, he could just feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Cal here :3
> 
> So this is a story that I started way back in July of 2016, and I didn't post it anywhere until like, September or November. I posted it to Deviantart, and it's completed now! So I figured I'd post it here, to get a larger audience for the story, since some people said it needed to be recognized more, I guess? I personally don't think it's all that great, but I do enjoy the _extremely_ evident evolution of my writing style that appears in this work. Maybe you'll find something that you enjoy as well...?
> 
> Meh, I don't know. Enjoy, I guess? *shrugs*


	2. Chapter 2

Mark knew something was up the second he walked in the front doors. The lobby was a bit more crowded than usual, and he noticed a few of the higher ups were actually out of their offices and talking with one another. He blinked and caught sight of Ken and Cindy talking by the front desk. He approached them and waved a simple greeting. Ken perked up when he saw him. The bearded man snatched Mark’s arm the second he was in range and shook him.

“You’ll never guess who Dodger and Josh brought in last night!”

Mark blinked and raised a brow. “You mean the green-haired guy? Yeah I saw him.”

Cindy and Ken exchanged a glance before Ken looked back at him.

_“It’s him.”_

The red- haired detective gave the older man a blank look. Ken growled in frustration and shook him. “It’s _him!_ The _burglar!”_

Mark’s body tensed. _What? That guy was the burglar?_ He glanced around the room. So that was what the commotion was about. He turned back to Ken. “Are they sure it’s him?”

Ken nodded. “Pretty sure. Guy’s got an accent so thick it’s hard to understand him sometimes. And he was caught with some stolen property and a gun.”

Mark’s figurative dog ears perked up. “A gun? Does it match the bullets we recovered from the shooting?”

It was Cindy who cut in. “Yep. And Wade wants you in IR 3. That’s where they’re holding him currently. Since you were one of the co-leaders on the case, they want you to interrogate him thoroughly. Him and Bob only did basic interrogation last night, but they knew you would be more suited for the detailed stuff.”

“Alright, sounds like a plan. I’ll head right over then. Would you mind clocking me in, Cindy?”

“Sure thing, just hurry and get your butt over there!”

Mark nodded and set off at a fast pace down the hall.

 

Interrogation Room 3 wasn’t too far from the lobby. Mark was there in a matter of seconds. As he swung open the door, he was met by the familiar faces of two of his closest friends. Bob Muyskens and Wade Barnes both straightened when they saw him and smiled. Mark chuckled and clapped Bob on the shoulder as the door closed behind him.

“Hey guys, how’s it going?”

Wade chuckled and raised a hand in the direction of the interrogation chamber beyond the one-way window. Mark turned his gaze towards the young man in one of the metal chairs. His head was down and his green hair hid his face while his hands were handcuffed to the table. Mark smirked.

“So what do you guys think?”

Bob shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. “The things he came in with point to him being the thief, but his demeanor is all wrong.”

Mark turned to him. “What do you mean?”

“He’s too confident,” Wade said as he picked at his nails. Mark glanced at him.

“Too confident, huh? We’ll see about that.” Mark cracked his knuckles jokingly and the three of them laughed.

“Well, I don’t know about Wade, but I’m going to go get a coffee.”

“Hey, I’m right behind ya.”

“Well that’s frightening.”

Mark chuckled as his friends left the room, arguing and throwing bad banter at each other. He stuck his head out of the door and hollered at them. “You guys take your time! I can handle this guy.”

“Alright Mark, we’ll see ya in half an hour,” Wade shouted as Bob gave a thumbs up.

 

Mark retreated back into the room and studied the man behind the glass. He hadn’t moved. Perhaps he was sleeping? Mark glanced at the desk in front of him and noticed an ID file. He picked it up and leafed through it before tucking it in his briefcase. Then, with a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped into the room with the thief.

 

The man didn’t move as Mark sat down across from him. Mark studied him silently before pulling two files out of his briefcase. One was the case file, while the other was this man’s ID. He set them neatly in front of him and opened the ID.

“So… Sean, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

At first there was no movement, then the man raised his head slowly. Only his left eye was visible.

“Jack.”

Mark blinked. “Pardon?”

“The name’s Jack. Not Sean. Only people I deem worthy can use me real name.”

Ken was right, his accent was thick.

The detective shrugged. “Alright then Jack, tell me about yourself. Where are you from?”

Jack snorted as he raised his head fully, flinging the green hair out of his eyes. Now both of the blue irises were visible. “Isn’t it obvious, ye fook? Ireland.”

“So you weren’t born here then.”

“I’m not even goin’ t’ answer that.”

Mark grunted. _So he is a bit of a brat._

“Okay then, what about your-”

Jack sighed loudly, making Mark pause. He raised a brow.

The Irishman gave him a cold, confident smirk. “Why don’t we cut to the chase, Fischbach? Or should I call you Mark? Which do ya prefer?”

Mark gave him a surprised look. _How in the hell…?_

“Where’d you get my name?”

Jack gave a fake thoughtful look at the ceiling before answering. “Well, those two idiots who arrested me called you Mark out front last night, and this morning those other two said that they needed Fischbach. And here you are.”

The detective paused. They were simple conclusions from clues and details he had gathered. No sneaky business there. Mark gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Jack continued speaking, studying his nails. “So, you guys think tat I’m the one pulling those theft jobs.”

Mark nodded, waiting to see what he had to say. Jack smirked. “Well, I’m not.”

_Wow, shocker._ Mark raised an eyebrow as Jack slid the innocent card across the table. Yet Jack just kept that confident smirk plastered on his face.

The detective leaned back in his chair, draping one arm over the back and stretching a leg forward.

“Listen, Jack, I want to believe you here, really I do.” _Hell no!_ “But you gotta give me something else other than ‘It wasn’t me’.” _So that I can put your smug ass in the slammer._

Jack chuckled and leaned forward, lowering his voice. _“Mendax.”_

Mark shifted in his seat. “Excuse me?”

The criminal grinned as he sat up. “Liar. It’s Latin for liar. Do you not know any Latin, detective?”

Mark knew a little, sure, but not near enough to speak it fluently or recognize words when he heard them.

Jack chuckled. “Well, I think we’re done here, what do you think, Fischbach?”

Mark noticed that the Irish accent was lessening the more the guy talked. Now it was only a slight hint that could be heard. He shook his head.

“Unfortunately, no, we’re not. I haven’t even asked you any of the practical case questions yet.”

“Tch. What a shame.” The Irishman turned his blue gaze towards the far wall, intentionally ignoring the detective. Mark’s brow twitched.

“So, McLoughlin is your last name?”

“That’s what the file says, doesn't it?”

“Alright, so where were you the night of the 13th?”

“Home.”

“Do you have any eyewitnesses who could justify that?”

“The family of mice living in my fookin’ wall.”

Mark grumbled. This was going nowhere fast. He rubbed his temple and sighed.

“Come on, work with me here Jack. It would be a whole lot easier if you just cooperated, even just a little.”

“Remove these damn cuffs and I will.”

The detective glanced at the metal restraints that held the man to the table. He then returned his brown gaze back to Jack.

The Irishman was smaller than him, and he wasn’t armed. Plus his muscle capacity didn’t seem to be much of a threat. In fact, he looked a bit scrawny. Compared to Mark’s muscular build, he must of looked like a twig. The dark haired detective sighed.

“Fine, alright. But no funny business, ya hear?”

He reached for the universal cuff key that was clipped to the inside cover of his briefcase. As he pulled it out, he saw Jack tense out of the corner of his eye. Mark slowly sat back up and watched him for a moment. Jack smirked.

“What? I thought I saw a spider. Scary litl’ fookers, yeah?”

The detective eyed him warily as he reached across the table and unlocked the cuffs. Jack withdrew his hands to his chest where he rubbed the sore wrists.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“Yeah. So, what are you willing to tell me?”

Jack sighed and leaned back in his chair, causing the front feet to lift off the ground. “Well, I’ll say this. Those break-ins weren’t done by the same people.”

Mark straightened. “What do you mean?”

“What does it sound like? There’s more than one thief.”

Mark ran a hand through his hair. “How do I know you’re not just saying that to throw us off? Get us off your trail?”

Jack leaned forward, his chair hitting the floor with a loud clank. He rested a forearm on the table and gave the detective a hard look. “Does it look like I’m lying? Besides, I would love to rat those bastards out to ya. Fookers been nothin’ but nasty t’ me. But alas,” he shrugged his shoulders. “They would have me killed within the hour.”

Mark raised a brow. “And how would they do that?”

Jack grinned. “I can’t tell ye that! That would get us both killed.”

The detective sighed and rubbed his temples. “Okay, so what else?”

“There is nothing else. Whatever else I tell you will result in someone dying.”

“And you want to prevent that?”

Jack snorted. “Of course. Who would want people to die?”

Mark smirked as an idea slowly blossomed in his mind. “So are you saying that you weren’t responsible for the death of Wayne Johnson on the 23rd?”

Jack flinched. _Gotcha._ The detective gave a small smile as Jack glared at him.

“Well Jack, what have you got to say for yourself?”

“I didn’t kill him. But I know who did.”

Mark shook his head. “Y’know something Jack, I think you’re bluffing. Your excuses seem to be a bit too forced and desperate.”

Jack smirked and sat straight in his chair. “Well, I guess that’s just too fookin’ unfortunate, isn’t it?”

 

Mark had started to chuckle, but what happened next quickly made him swallow his laughter. Jack had brought his knees to his chest and kicked the table into Mark, knocking the detective and his chair to the floor. As Mark struggled to his feet, a fist flew through the air and connected with his jaw, sending him reeling.

As Jack swung again, this time aiming for an uppercut, Mark was able to grab the smaller man’s wrist and block his attack. But Jack was quick, and he whipped his body around and drug Mark’s arm with him. The motion caused Jack to end up behind Mark. With a quick twist and jerk, Jack freed his wrist and pinned Mark’s arm behind his back.

The larger detective tried to swing around and elbow the criminal in the face, but his knees were kicked and he found himself crumpling to the floor. As his knees took impact, he felt the cool metal of a gun barrel press against the back of his neck. _That bastard got my gun!_

Mark went rigid as his breath came in trembling puffs through his nostrils. Anger was flooding through him. How dare he let himself be tricked and overpowered by this punk. Mark growled and glanced at Jack, who was standing behind him, looking smug.

“So Fischbach, how do you want to do this? Would you like to escort me out to one of your lovely cars, or should I haul both our asses outta here?”

Mark glared at him without answering. Jack chuckled and dug the gun into his neck, sending shivers of pain down his spine. Then he felt hot breath on his ear.

“C’mon, Mark. We haven’t got all day.~”

The detective tensed. Apparently he had two options: Get both him and Jack out of here calm and quietly, or have Jack do it, which seemed to involve shooting. Mark sighed and hung his head, his hair falling into his face. He didn't have much of a choice.

“Fine. We’ll go out the back,” he said between clenched teeth. Jack grinned and hauled the man to his feet. The Irishman kept the gun on him as he stepped beside him.

“You hold my arm like you’re escorting me, and if people ask say that you made a deal or something with me, to get me to talk. Understood?”

“Yeah.” Mark glared at him as he snatched Jack’s upper arm. He watched as Jack hid the gun he was holding carefully inside his shirt. Mark knew it was still trained on him.

“One wrong move, and you’re dead, ya hear me?”

“Yeah I hear you.”

“Good. Now get us out of here.”

Mark reached for the door and unlocked it and stepped into the other room. The two stepped into the hallway just in time for Bob and Wade to round the corner. All four looked a little startled at first, until Wade chuckled out loud.

“Ah, so did the infamous Detective Fischbach get the weary gentleman to talk?”

Mark grinned and waved him off. “No, not quite yet. But I’ve made a deal with the bugger. We’re gonna talk about the case over some coffee in my office.”

Bob raised a brow. “Do you need our help with anything?”

Mark caught the tone in his voice. He was suspicious. And rightfully so.

The dark haired man shook his head. “Nah, I’ve got this guy handled. He’s not much of a threat, just some scared kid.”

Mark chuckled as he felt the arm he was holding tense.

Bob and Wade bid them farewell in the end, still casting worried glances over their shoulders as they walked down the hall. Mark and Jack kept moving, not looking at anybody. Luckily the main lobby was deserted. Even Cindy was absent from the scene. _She must have gone to get a coffee or something._

“Forget the back, let’s go through here. The less people we see the better.” Jack steered them towards the door and out onto the steps. He scanned the street and noticed a sleek black car. “Yours?”

Mark nodded.

“Good.” Jack started walking towards it as Mark felt for his keys in his pocket. Once they were right beside the car, Jack ripped himself away from Mark and held the gun at his waist, keeping it trained on Mark. “Now get in. I’m driving.”

The detective glared at him as he handed the thug his keys and slid into the passenger’s seat. He closed the door and watched as Jack walked around the front, keeping the gun trained on him.

Jack slid into the driver’s seat and immediately cranked the engine.

“So where we off to, Jackaboy?”

Jack smirked and turned towards him. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

The green haired man then swung the butt of the gun down hard on the detective’s temple, knocking him out cold. Blood trickled down the detective’s face and onto his shoulder. Jack shook his head in irritation and put the car in drive and tore down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that happened.
> 
> I honestly can't help but cringe as I post these chapters XD


	3. Chapter 3

Mark’s eyes snapped open. The first thing that came into focus were his shoes and the filthy concrete floor they rested on. He groaned and shut his eyes, trying to dull the aggressive throbbing in his head.

“So you’re awake then?”

The detective lifted his head to find himself staring into a deep inky blackness. He was surrounded by a bright light. Glancing up, he hissed when his eyes met the bare bulb that hung above him. Mark tried to shield his eyes with his hands, but found them bound behind him. As Mark’s mind started to focus, he realized he was tied to a wooden chair by his ankles, wrists, and shins. The detective tried to jerk at his bonds, but found them snug. He lifted his gaze back to the darkness that surrounded him.

“Who’s there?”

When he spoke, he felt something dry crackle against his skin. He figured it must have been dry blood from his head injury.

A chuckle came from within the blackness and then a figured appeared. It was a man with blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

“Detective Fischbach.”

The man had a thick accent of… something. Mark couldn’t place it. But the detective waited for the man to say more. When he didn’t Mark raised a brow.

“...Yes?”

“Ah, sorry. I spaced out for a sec. So you’re Detective Fischbach? I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

“And why’s that?”

“Simple. You’re the one in charge of trying to solve the mystery of the burglaries in that fancy residential area,” the man chuckled. “All those break-ins that have gone unsolved for weeks. How does it feel to be stumped, detective?”

The man had started to circle Mark, just on the edge of the ring of light. Mark followed him with his eyes.

“What do you want?”

The man paused behind Mark. He heard a shift in the man’s clothing as he leaned over Mark’s shoulder.

“It’s not what I want, Fischbach. It’s what Jack wants,” he whispered.

Mark flinched. “Jack? Mcloughlin? What does he have to do with this?”

“He’s the leader, you dumbass,” he said. The man straightened. Mark watched him come back around on his right and stop right in front of him. “Mr. McLoughlin is the primary target of your investigation. You had him in your grasp. Yet _you_ let him get away _and_ take you hostage. Must be embarrassing really.” The man snickered and placed his hands on the detective’s knees, leaning forward and getting only inches from his face. 

Mark stayed still as the man grinned. “We’re gonna leave you here for a few days. Someone might be by to give ya some water and such, but don’t expect anything too grand. I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” A pale hand came up and gripped his chin.

The detective jerked his head away. That almost annoying laugh rippled out of the man’s throat as he straightened, pushing off Mark’s knees. Then he disappeared into the darkness once again. A rectangle of light appeared as a door opened and closed, the man disappearing through it, leaving the detective in silence.

 

At first Mark just sat there, a little confused. He had guessed this might happen, and he knew that he would be here awhile. Hopefully he still had his phone nearby, which had its tracker, but still, it was only a hope. He couldn’t feel the device in his pocket.

Mark sighed. In a way, the blonde guy was right. It was embarrassing, his whole situation. He'd let the smaller man, a thief, take advantage of him, and now here he was. Anger slowly started to bubble up inside of him. How stupid could he have been? He could have shouted for help while still in the station, he could have given Bob a hint that he was in trouble. But no. He let himself get dragged away like an obedient, beaten-down dog.

_Damn it damn it damn it!_ Mark gritted his teeth as he hung his head. Fury suddenly overtook him, and he shouted. The detective tugged at his ropes, trying to desperately break free. He could feel the ropes on his wrists digging into his skin. They were probably bleeding. Mark swung his head, twisting his body to and fro. The only thing that budged was the chair.

At last Mark gave up, panting and sweating. He was sure his wrists were bleeding now, and his legs were raw. His hair hung in sweaty strands over his eyes, and his white dress shirt was drenched. A loud _clank_ echoed throughout the room as the door opened and closed. Mark lifted his head to see who is visitor was. A familiar green tuft of hair peeked out at him from the darkness.

 

Sean McLoughlin was a reasonable man, in his own mind. He liked to keep things fair and made sure everyone was decent. But of course it's hard to be a criminal and have the same mindset.

He looked down at the heaving man who had questioned him and had become his hostage just because he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Jack's blue eyes drifted over his soaked shirt and wet locks that hung in those brown eyes. Those eyes seemed to be staring into his soul.

To be honest, in the interrogation room, he had been scared shitless. The young yet successful detective was obviously good at what he did, and it showed. His brown eyes were so intense that it made you feel bad for lying.

Jack gave the man in front of him an apologetic look. “Hey man, I'm sorry. I really didn't want to do this.”

The detective didn't answer, he just kept staring at him, like he was mentally trying to rip his soul from his body. Jack shuddered.

“So you were trying to lead us off your trail.” The detective’s voice was deep and angry. It shook slightly with fury, and Jack tensed.

“What? No, I was telling the truth. I don’t know what Felix told you but-”

“I should have known you were in charge. You have that air about you.”

Jack shook his head and ignored the detective’s remarks and instead studied his condition. Obviously the larger man was furious, but he was also injured. His head had stopped bleeding, but the dried blood was dark and looked out of place against the tan skin. Jack then noticed a quiet dripping sound. Confused, he looked around until he spotted the small drops of blood behind the detective.

He moved around behind him. Jack could feel those dark eyes following him. The Irishman found the source of the blood to be the detective’s wrists, which were bruised and bleeding. Shaking his head, Jack made a full circle and came to face the detective again. He studied the face that was staring at him. _This guy is nuts._

“Look, they're goin' t' question ya. Just try to be cooperative and give them what they want. These guys-”

A loud banging came from the other side of the door. “Time's up, Jack! Get out of there before the info crew gets here.”

Mark glanced at the door and then back at Jack. The Irishman gave him a worried glance before turning back towards the door. “Alright, let me out.”

Jack stepped through the door and glanced back to see Mark hanging his head. Then the door shut, blocking his view of the dark skinned detective.

\----------------------

Two days. It had been two days since Mark had gone missing along with McLoughlin. Ken rubbed his temples as he sat at his desk, reading over the report he had received. Mark had come in on time, Ken had seen him himself, and then he had gone to question the suspected thief, Sean McLoughlin. Wade and Bob had said that they had seen Mark exit the interrogation room with the prisoner in tow, saying they had made a deal in order for Sean to talk. And that was the last anyone saw them. Once they examined camera footage of the building the night they went missing, Ken and Aaron, who was the security manager, discovered that Mark had dragged the prisoner out the front doors and down the street. They accessed the traffic cameras and saw when Sean had pulled a gun from within his clothing and forced Mark into the car. Ken almost didn't see when Sean clubbed Mark over the head with the gun. And then Sean drove off.

Ken and Aaron tried to keep up with him as he drove through the city of L.A., but it was difficult. There were several times they lost the vehicle in the sea of traffic, especially when the camera quality wasn't all that great to begin with. But in the end it was all for naught. The car turned off onto an older highway, and there were no cameras there. They had lost him.

Ken glared down at his desk. _What the hell happened? Mark is capable of handling himself, so how did it come to this? Did Sean have some sort of dirt on Mark or something?_ Ken shook his head. He had known Mark for a long time, and he'd never heard anything that was worth mentioning about Mark. The older detective let out a pent-up breath. He would get to the bottom of this and get Mark back. If he wasn't too late.

\--------------------- 

It had been a few days from what he could tell. There were no windows in this cell of his. Yet Mark had a feeling it'd been more than 48 hours.

When the four masked men came in the first day, a few hours after Jack’s visit, they'd asked him easy questions. What the police knew about the case. What suspects they had in mind. Things like that. And of course, the stubborn detective didn't give any answers. They had smacked him around a bit, gracing him with several bruises and cuts on his face and a bruised and sore abdomen. Several times he was hit hard enough to knock the chair he was restrained to over. After each time the chair crashed to the floor, they would right it and then continue the questioning and beating. Mark cracked his head on the concrete when the chair fell for about the sixth time. They left him alone after that.

Mark drifted in and out of consciousness then. The beating his head had taken was affecting him, and he found himself passing out and then snapping awake. The dim light that buzzed above him sometimes put him to sleep. At one point someone came in and offered him a drink. He’d refused.

After what seemed like an eternity but was really only about eight hours, the men returned. They had cut Mark loose from his chair and forced him to stand. Then they lifted his arms above his head and tied his wrists together again. And then he felt himself being lifted off the ground. Realizing what was about to happen, the detective swung madly with his legs. One of the powerful limbs collided with one of the men. He grunted and went down hard, two of his companions rushing over to help him. Mark was completely off the ground by then and was left spinning slowly, unable to stop himself. He didn't see when a leather whip was brought down across his back.

The sudden sting and burn of the leather biting into his skin made him gasp and writhe. Pain seared down his back and he gritted his teeth. And the questions came again. And again, he refused to answer. A fist smashed into his face, reopening a cut. Mark could feel the hot blood running down his chin and dripping onto his shirt. The questions came once again. Another slash across his back, and another, and another. Mark cried out and writhed. He could feel hot tears spill out of his eyes and mix in with the blood. The salty tears stung his cuts.

By the end of that session, Mark's white shirt hung in ribbons around his shoulders. Blood was steadily oozing from his raw back. Several welts and cuts were also visible on his chest and arms. His head hung helplessly as he dangled there, blood dripping from his nose. The four men all looked at each other and shook their heads. One went to the semiconscious man and cut the rope that held him up. He slumped to the floor and laid still. And they left him there.

When Mark came to, he blinked several times to clear his vision. All he could see was the floor. He slowly turned his head and laid there for a few minutes, trying to clear his head. The memories of the previous day were slowly drifting back into his mind. He then slowly tried to push himself up onto his hands and knees. The detective nearly screamed when the cuts all over his body stretched. Some even reopened, fresh blood gushing and dripping to the floor.

He collapsed, breathing heavily. There was no way he was getting upright any time soon. Instead he laid there, enjoying the coolness of the concrete against his beaten and abused skin. Mark felt tears prick his eyes. He blinked them back.

_Why the hell do they want to know this stuff so bad? What good would it do them other than evading the police even further?_ He felt his eyes getting droopy. Was he falling asleep? Or was he passing out? Mark couldn't tell anymore. It was only day two of torture, yet he felt like he had been through a week's worth. Probably a result of stress from before being kidnapped, and the physical and mental stress of all that happened after. Mark shut his eyes. Perhaps he was dying. Yet the thought didn't scare him. If he did die, then he could be peaceful and not have to worry about this stupid case anymore. And he could be free of torture. Mark's mouth turned up in a slight grin. Ah yes, that sounded amazing. He felt his body relax, and he let his mind slip into darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

Unfortunately, he had not been dying. For a while he had been floating in a black abyss, and then he was suddenly gasping for air as a wave of cold water collided with his face. Stunned and confused, Mark jerked his head to and fro, numb to the wounds that would have otherwise paralyzed him. And then he heard laughter.

Raising his head, he caught sight of legs clad in black jeans. Once he raised his head further, he saw a green hoodie, and then a white mask staring at him. Mark jerked in surprise and then cried out as his back hit something solid. The tender skin burned and the detective writhed. 

He was back in the chair, bound once again by his wrists, ankles, and shins. Mark let his head droop as he gasped in pain. 

“Welcome back to the real world, detective.” The voice that slipped into his head and vibrated his eardrums made him shudder. He glanced up at the masked face and recognized the pokerfaced thing.

“Cry. I should have known you’d be involved.”

Cry chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. “Oops. Guess you caught me.”

Mark scoffed and sat a bit straighter, trying to ignore the pain in his back and wrists. Cry cocked his head, the mask giving the action a bit of a sadistic look.

 

Cry had been involved in a case Mark had been a part of a few years ago. Mark had interrogated the man himself and had found enough evidence to put him away for life, but the trial went haywire. Cry had a very determined lawyer and the judge seemed to be a bit sick of him, so he put Cry away for six months. After he was released, he stayed quiet for a while. But when he did start back up, the police were only able to catch his shadows. He had learned from his past mistakes. 

 

“So, my men tell me you’re not being very cooperative. Now why is that, detective?” Cry’s voice was as monotone as ever.

Mark glared at him. “I’m guessing you’re the one in charge then?”

Cry shook his head. “No, just the head of the info team. My boys are the ones that do all the dirty work,” he took a step closer to Mark and clasped his arms behind his back. “Until they feel they can do no more, that is. Then that’s where I come in.”

Mark snorted. “I guess your men aren’t all that creative.”

“Ah, but you forget. Those questions were simple. Easy. Anyone could have answered them. Think of these past two days as the first floor. And, congratulations! You’ve reached the second floor.” Cry took another step towards him and pulled a knife from his back pocket. It was a rather large kitchen knife, the metal blade glinting in the light. “I think it’s time we had some fun.”  
\---

Mark cried out as another slice was made across his cheek. Cry sighed and stood back, like a painter studying his canvas. “Come now Mark, be reasonable. Even a nod would suffice.”

The detective glared at him from the corner of his eye as his new cut glittered underneath it. Blood trickled down his face and followed the outline of his chin. 

The cut matched several others all over the detective’s face, each a result of not answering a question. Mark spit as a bit of blood trailed into his mouth. Cry stared at the bloody saliva on the floor and smirked. Of course, Mark couldn’t see the smirk, but he heard the bit of air escape from the man’s nose as he did it. 

“Now, now Mark, don’t be stupid. I’ll ask this question one more time before moving on. Do you have any information that may point to any of us? Jack, Felix, me, any of us criminals you might have dealt with before?”

Mark continued to glare at him, remaining silent. 

Cry sighed. “Well, I guess that’s that then.” He tapped the knife against his chin and began to walk around Mark. “Say, what do you know about Jack? What have you been told about our Irish potato?” 

Mark let a confused look pass over his face. Again with Jack. What is with these guys and bringing him up? “Apparently he’s the leader of this ordeal. At least that’s what one guy told me.”

“Ah, and he’d be correct. Felix was the one that told you, I presume? Goofy lookin’ Swedish meatball, that one.”

_Ah, so he was Swedish._ Mark eyed Cry as he came to pause in front of him. 

“Well, I believe I’ve done all I can do here for today. But I’ll leave you with something to think about.”

Cry took a few steps forward and brandished the knife. Raising his arm in the air, Cry chuckled. “Say, tell me if this hurts.”

As he swung his arm down, Mark tried to squirm out of the way. His back screamed at him, but his instincts told him to move. But alas, he could go nowhere.

The knife plunged into his left thigh, biting all the way to the bone, and probably past it. Mark cried out as Cry laughed. 

“So I guess it does.”

Cry snickered as he pushed the knife deeper, burying it to the hilt. Mark hissed and tried to jerk away, but Cry kept the blade stable, causing the wound to grow bigger. Mark cringed and doubled over, gasping as the pain consumed him. 

 

Cry stepped away from the detective, watching as he began to tremble. _Ah, he’s probably going into shock._ The masked thug grinned behind his mask and backed away to the door. Once he reached it he banged on it. The metal swung open and he stepped into the well-light hallway, watching as the detective began to spasm. 

 

Mark could only stare at the knife handle protruding from his leg as he trembled. He could see the bit of blood that was escaping the wound trail down his leg and soak into his black pants. He could also feel his breathing. It was shallow and quick. Was he having a panic attack? It didn’t matter. He had to escape. He couldn’t take another second of this place or its people. Mark started to jerk around, using his head and torso to try and maneuver the chair. His back was screaming at him, telling him to stop. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t stop. He could escape. Yeah, it would be easy. He just had to get out of this chair.

Mark swung himself hard to the right, and then to the left. The chair lost its balance and teetered before crashing to the left. Mark took the brunt of the blow to his shoulder. He cringed and tucked his head close to his chest, trying to fight off the pain. Once it passed to a dull throb, he tried to move again. But it was nearly impossible. Mark tried to free his hands, his legs, anything. But nothing budged. The detective felt tears of frustration form in his eyes and he shook them away. _No, no damnit! I can’t quit now._ Mark tried to struggle even harder, but failed. Nothing worked. He just lay there, gasping and groaning, tied to a chair, and completely helpless. The detective closed his eyes and tried to breathe. _Calm down Fischbach. You can get through this._ But his own words of encouragement weren’t enough, and he felt himself slipping. Mark opened his eyes. He was falling, falling into a deep, mental dark pit. What was at the bottom? Water? Vipers? Spikes? Would he be able to climb back out? Or would he drown?

Mark eye’s started to droop. What was this? Sleep? Death? He wasn’t sure anymore. But he didn’t care. He let his eyes close. The darkness that surrounded him was frightening, like a giant monster that was just waiting to devour him. Perhaps it was. The detective let those thoughts slip away with his consciousness. The last thing he heard was loud voices just outside of his cell.  
\--- 

_A warm feeling. It covered his entire body like a blanket. It was comforting and relaxing. There was a slight sting all over his body, but it didn't last long. A scent. A lovely scent. Was it apple? Yes, warm apple and a hint of cinnamon. It was a nice smell. He wanted to be closer to it. He reached out. Then suddenly he was enveloped in the fragrance. It was glorious. He opened his eyes a bit. Grey walls were blurring by, and then suddenly the night sky was above him, exploding with stars that he hadn’t seen in a while. And then a flash of green to his left. What was that? Hair maybe? Then something struck him on the back of his head, and he was floating again. The scent surrounded him once again. The darkness wasn't so frightening anymore, and he let it devour him._  
\---

Mark's eyes slowly drifted open as he felt something warm and wet dab against his forehead. His bleary vision saw only white for a moment, then a streak of green appeared in the right corner of his eye. He slowly turned his head towards it and blinked a few times. A man was sitting on his right, staring at him with a smirk on his face and wet cloth in his hand. 

“Easy there, yer quite a mess.”

Mark groaned as he recognized the Irish accent. There came a breath of laughter from the Irishman. The detective shut his eyes as he lifted an arm to rub his face. Pain rippled up the entire limb and exploded in his head. He hissed and froze.

“Hey now, ye can't be moving yet.” A firm yet gentle hand was placed on his partially raised arm. Jack pushed it back onto the bed. 

Once Mark caught his breath, he sighed. “What the hell happened?”

Jack chuckled and sat back in his chair. “Well, you were quite the stubborn shit, and they beat the hell out of ya. Whipped ya good too. Nearly bled to death, ya damn fool. Yer lucky I found ya when I did.”

Mark blinked as he let his mind register. He remembered all of that happening, but he couldn’t summon up any memories of being saved. 

“So, where am I now?”

“My place. It was the only place I could take you.”

“What?”

The Irishman raised a brow at the confused detective. “Whaddya mean, ‘what’, this was the only place I could take you. No one can find us here.” He chuckled and rose from his seat. “You stay there. I’ll getcha some water.”

Mark followed the Irishman with his gaze as he left the room and disappeared into the hallway. Once Jack was out of sight, Mark let his head hit the pillow. He stared up at the blank white ceiling. _So I’m at his place. I wonder what happened._ The detective glanced down at himself to see he was propped up in a plain bed. White sheets covered his legs and part of his waist. The rest of his torso was wrapped in bandages. _Jesus Christ…_ Mark let his gaze drift to the left. There he saw a window. It was slightly open and a small breeze was making the white curtains flutter. There was a wooden chair next to it. Resting on the seat were his clothes. His suit jacket, his shredded and still bloody shirt, even his pants and underwear.

_Wait, what?_

Sure enough his entire outfit was there, shoes and socks included.

_If those are over there, and I’m over here, the fuck am I wearing?_ The detective wiggled his toes and tried to move his legs a bit. He found them clothed, thank god. He gave a suspicious glance at the door. Mark hadn't taken Jack for that sort of man, but one could never be sure.

 

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Jack shut off the faucet as the glass he was filling reached the desired level. He glanced at the little orange bottle next to the sink. Reaching for it, his eyes caught sight of the familiar labeling. A bunch of doctor mumbo jumbo and whatnot. Jack popped the cap off and dumped two pills into his palm, then returned to the bedroom, glass and pills in hand.

Jack could see Mark flinch as he entered the room. The detective wouldn’t meet his eyes. The smaller man sighed and sat in the chair he had brought in from the kitchen earlier. 

“Here.” He handed the pills to the wounded man. Mark eyed them. 

“What are they?”

“Morphine. For the pain.” Mark glanced at him, then gingerly lifted the pills to his mouth. He winced as he swallowed. Jack handed him the water and Mark gulped it down greedily, finishing the glass. He then handed the empty glass back to Jack and wiped his mouth. 

“How long was I out?”

“About 48 hours. You might as well have been dead. You didn’t move at all, except when I hauled your ass out of there. Though you talked a lot.”

 

Mark tensed. _Good god, what did I say?_ “Anything interesting?”

“No, just a bunch of mutterings and apologies.”

“Apologies?”

“Yeah. I’m guessing to your coworkers and such. You did mention Bob and Wade several times.”

“Ah, well that would make sense.”

“Indeed. Anyway,” Jack rose to his feet and stretched. “You’d better get some more sleep. I’ll come check on you every now and then. When you wake up, we’ll change those bandages. Sound like a plan?”

The detective paused, and then nodded. Jack smirked and let himself out, closing the door behind him. 

Jack sighed and leaned against the door. He hadn’t slept in 48 hours. There had been the whole riot thing, and then retrieving Mark, then caring for him, and watching him. _Jesus I need sleep._ He rubbed his face and ran a hand through his oily green hair. A shower was needed first.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack stepped out of the shower squeaky clean and refreshed. He was still tired of course, but he felt much better. The Irishman rubbed his hair partially dry with a towel before wrapping one around his waist and stepping into the hall. He glanced at the closed door to his right. Mark was set up in the guest/tech room. Deciding to check on the man, he walked to the door and opened it a crack. Peering into the room, he saw that Mark was sleeping soundly, still properly propped up on the pillows. Satisfied with what he saw, Jack closed the door and turned left, retreating into his own room. There he dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and collapsed on his bed. 

As he laid there on his stomach, he let his mind drift. How strange the past few days had been. First he’d been arrested. Then he’d managed to escape and gain a hostage. And then Felix lied to him. He’d done what the Swede asked. Jack had kidnapped a cop for Christ’s sake. Not some random civilian, but a _cop._

_Felix did ask me to bring in a cop if I could though. He said it didn’t matter who it was, just find the opportunity and take it. Perhaps he had known that Fischbach would be the one._ He shook his head. _That’s impossible. Felix may be good, but he ain’t that good._ Jack reached for his pillow and tucked it under his chin, feeling his eyes start to droop. 

The cooling breeze that drifted in through the window and the sounds of the peaceful neighborhood he lived in were a familiar lullaby to him, and soon he was snoring lightly, sleeping a dreamless sleep.

\---

The next thing Jack knew, he was scrambling out of bed and skidding into the hallway. As he hit the opposite wall, his mind finally started to catch up with what his body was doing. It was the dead of night, probably one or two in the morning. Screaming. Someone was screaming. It was coming from the tech room. Jack launched himself towards the door. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but as he flung open the door he could see the silhouette of a man struggling with the sheets on the bed. 

Jack hurried to Mark’s side as Mark’s frantic screaming leveled out. The detective’s back was arched and his hands were clasped to his head. Jack shook his shoulders, trying to wake him. He was rewarded with more screaming. _Shitshitshitshitshit, how do I get him to shut up?!_ Jack glanced around frantically and saw nothing that could have been of use. He turned his attention back to Mark and watched helplessly as he struggled. At one point, his screaming sounded like a small child’s. An idea struck Jack just then.

_Perhaps a hug would calm him down? I know they always calmed me down when I was younger._ Having no other idea, the smaller man wrapped his arms around Mark and held on tight. At first nothing happened, but then the screaming dwindled, and he started to still. 

Finally, the detective stopped screaming. He sank back into the sheets and started to breathe normally again. Jack slowly released him and glanced down at his face. It was covered in sweat and healing cuts, and still carried a slightly confused look. Jack let out a sigh of relief and studied the bandages that decorated the man’s abdomen. Of course the wounds had been reopened and were probably bleeding once again. He would wake Mark in a few hours to change them.

McLoughlin turned to leave. A slight mutter reached his ears and he paused. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Mark’s head roll to the left. Soft sobs drifted towards him. Was this toughened detective that fought crime on the streets of L.A. really crying? Jack turned back around and took a few curious steps. He peered over at the other man’s face. Sure enough, tears were rolling out of Mark’s eyes. Jack could barely hear the sobs that the grown man was producing.

Feeling a bit sorry for the guy, Jack placed a hand on his forehead, hoping it would relax him or something. It seemed to work, for Mark quieted down and sighed. The Irishman removed his hand and took a step back, shaking his head. _This guy’s a mess._ He turned to walk away when a hand suddenly reached out and snatched his wrist. Jack blinked and looked back at the sleeping man. “Mark? Are you- Woah!”

Jack flailed with his free arm as the strong limb attached to his wrist yanked him backwards and onto the bed. He tried to jump up and scramble away, but an arm snaked around his waist and pulled him closer. Jack shoved at the arm, trying to break free. “Hey, let me go! Jesus Christ….,” he looked down at the face of the man responsible for this and saw that he had a blank expression.

Jack frowned and tried again to escape, but was rewarded with a sharp tug the made him loose what balance he had. Jack toppled onto his side and tensed as Mark’s other arm slipped around his waist. The guy was a cuddler. 

_Fook me…_ Jack peered at Mark’s face, which was resting against his shoulder, and saw that he had a peaceful look on his face. Jack grumbled and glared at the door. _If that’s what calms him down, I guess._ Now he knew he wasn’t getting more sleep tonight. 

 

Around 5:30 AM the detective’s grip lost some of its strength, and Jack was able to slip away. Mark didn’t seem to notice as he continued to snore slightly. The Irishman shook his head and stormed into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He wasn’t an early riser, but he knew it would be pointless for him to go back to bed. Jack sat at the table and put his head in his hands. The weight of the situation he had gotten himself into finally had time to settle into his brain. He sighed. “The fuck am I doing?”

 

Mark peeled open his eyes and instantly regretted it. Blinding white sunlight was pouring in through the window and illuminating the room. The detective slowly sat up, feeling a bit better and more mobile. He pushed himself back against the headboard and looked around. 

He was alone, and the door was shut. Upon further investigation, Mark realized he was in some sort of tech room. A double monitor setup was directly across from him on a large oak desk. A classy looking office chair was sitting awkwardly to the side, like someone had left it in a hurry. Wires and cables were all tucked neatly against the wall and plugged into their respective slots. Mark also took note of the several pieces of random tech gear lying in various locations on the desk. There was a motherboard-looking thing, a ball of wire, a very nice set of headphones, and a microphone as well. Several scraps of metal were also visible. Blinking lights from the computers and monitors and other various devices seemed to make the whole station look alive. 

The setup was the only thing in the room besides the bed, two wooden chairs, and a nightstand. There was probably more tech junk in the closet. Mark shook his head. _This guy’s got something going on here._ He looked around the room and saw nothing else of interest. _Perhaps I should call Jack? Let him know I’m awake?_ Mark turned his head towards the door and cleared his throat. 

“H-Hey Jack?”

Silence. He tried again, this time a bit louder. “Jack? Are you there?”

Nothing. Concerned, Mark gingerly lifted the covers from his legs and swung them over the bed. As his feet hit the carpeted floor, a jolt of stinging pain shot up his back and wounded leg. He grimaced and gripped his left arm, trying to mentally ease himself past the pain. Looking down, he noticed he was wearing black flannel pajama pants. Gasping softly, he stood. Mark took a shaky step, and another. He felt himself leaning, and caught himself on the nightstand. “Jack?”

Still nothing. The detective grunted and used the wall to support himself as he made his way towards the door. Mark gripped the cool handle and swung the door open, leaning on the door frame. He peered down the hall. 

It was a narrow, short hallway, that ended on the right and turned into a living room/ kitchen on the left. Mark noticed five other doorways in the hall. 

“Jack?”

This time he was rewarded with a scuffling in the kitchen, like socked feet hitting the floor and he heard three short steps before Jack was standing before him at the end of the hallway. He looked a little flustered and his green hair was a mess.

“Mark! Jesus, what’re you doing upright?!”

The Irishman hurried over to him and grabbed his left arm and flung it over his shoulders. Jack’s right arm wrapped itself around Mark’s waist, supporting him and keeping him upright. Mark grunted as the Irishman’s arm pressed into his tender wounds. Jack’s fingers were cool on his irritated skin. 

“I-I wanted to make sure you knew I was awake.”

“Well fook you could’ve just yelled.”

“I did.”

Jack grumbled and started down the hall. Mark kept pace with him, thanks to Jack practically dragging him. Jack stopped at the first door on the left and opened the door. It was a bathroom.

“Here, we’ll getcha cleaned up before we replace those bandages. God knows they need it.”

“That bad huh?”

“Yeah, and you’re sleeping habits didn’t help at all,” Jack said as he tried to joke.

Mark raised a brow as Jack helped him sit on the edge of the tub. “My sleeping habits?”

“Aye, you were throwing quite a fit last night. You were a’ screaming and hollering. Almost looked like an exorcism.” Mark flinched as he tried to imagine what happened. 

“Jesus…”

“Eh, not quite.” Jack smirked as he leaned past Mark to turn on the faucet. 

Mark suddenly caught a whiff of a faint smell that lingered in his nostrils. He blinked. It was familiar. _What in the world…?_

“Hey, can you, uh, bathe yourself?”

Mark shook himself as he registered Jack’s question. “What?”

“For the love of-, can you clean yourself up?”

“Oh, oh of course!”

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Good. I’ll go get breakfast ready.” He turned to leave then stopped and turned back around. “Shit sorry, I almost forgot about your bandages.” The Irishman kneeled beside him and studied the rust colored cloth. “Just hold still, alright?”

Mark nodded and jumped when he felt Jack’s cool fingers brush against his skin. The pale hands moved expertly around the bandages, unwinding them from around Mark’s torso. The detective hissed when the air hit his exposed wounds. 

Jack clicked his tongue. “Damn, you banged yourself up pretty good last night.”

Mark tried to look over his shoulder but was rewarded with a sharp pain in his chest. Wincing, he glanced down. Jack was removing a few patches of bandages there as well. “Those pricks beat the hell out of ya. All for a few stupid answers.” Jack glanced up at the detective then back at the task at hand. “Did you give them any? Answers, I mean.”

Mark shook his head. “No. They got nothing from me but a few curses.”

Jack stood and crumbled the bloody bandages into a ball. “Well, I guess that’s better than giving away your deepest darkest secrets,” he said as he chucked the bloody ball into the trash can.

Mark eyed the Irishman curiously. A thought crossed his mind. 

“Why are you helping me?”

Jack froze. That question came too soon for him.

Jack scratched the back of his head. “I can’t say yet. But just know that you’re safe here. I’ll let you get the bandage off yer leg.”

 

Mark eyed him as he left the bathroom and closed the door, leaving the detective alone. Mark glared down at the white tile and let his mind run wild. 

_It must be a trick of some kind. A fluke. They want me to get comfortable so that I end up telling them everything. It won’t work. Even if Jack seems like a nice guy who's looking out for me, I won’t fall for it._ Mark glanced at the almost full tub and shut off the faucet. The warm water looked mighty inviting. He glanced down at his wounded leg. Biting his bottom lip, Mark stripped off his pants and studied the bandage. It was soaked completely through around the wounded area and seemed to be only getting worse. The detective gingerly began to unwrap it. Soon the terrible truth was revealed.

The wound was deep and it ached. The area around the sliced skin was purple and red. Mark bit the inside of his cheek as he studied it. Maybe the water will do it some good. The detective stood and winced as his muscles pulled at his wounds. Mark then gingerly stepped into the warm water. His muscles instantly relaxed as he stood in the water. 

_Now comes the hard part._ Mark readied himself as he slowly lowered his body into the water. Soon the water covered his legs, then his hips, and then crawled up his abdomen. 

To say it stung would have been an understatement. When the water first touched his raw and abused back, Mark cringed and forced himself further into the water. Once he was completely submerged up to his shoulders, he thought he was going to die. The pain was immense. It felt like millions of ants were crawling all over his skin and biting him repeatedly. Mark writhed and tried to ease the pain, but it was no use. 

Finally, _finally_ , the pain left. Like an ugly monster slinking back into its cave after it had tormented the hero to its heart’s content. It left the dark haired detective gasping.

Mark sat there for quite a while. He let his mind just wander. It flitted down on his co-workers, on Jack, on his tormentors. But also his family. What were they thinking? Did they think he was dead? A bunch of people probably did think he was dead. It had to have been about four or five days since anyone had seen him.

As worry began to gnaw at his gut, his gaze drifted towards the edge of the tub across from him. Tucked in the corner was a bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo. Curious, Mark picked it up. 

It was some off-brand shampoo that was a mixture of shampoo and conditioner. There was also a color protector in it. Mark popped the cap and gave the bottle a quick squeeze, forcing the aroma of the soap into the air. The scent surrounded him, and made him tense. _This scent…_ He had a sort of flashback/deja vu moment. 

_When I was unconscious, I remember being warm. Like someone wrapped me in something. A blanket maybe. And then there was this scent. This strong scent of apples._ Mark looked at the label and saw that the shampoo’s fragrance was indeed apple. _Then we were moving. When we made it outside, I think I was hit with something. Then it came over me again._ Mark gripped the bottle in his hands. _Jack did get me out of there. But why? He’s the one who put me there in the first place. And who hit me? Why is all of this happening?_

Mark’s thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. He jumped and nearly dropped the bottle. 

“Mark? Did you drown or something?”

Mark took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. “No, I’m fine.”

“Oh, well okay. When you’re done, there’s some fresh clothes for you here.”

“Alright, thanks.”

Mark listened to Jack walk away. With a sigh, he replaced the bottle and hauled himself out of the water, wincing. True the water helped. But it still hurt.

After drying himself off he opened the door a crack and peeked into the hall. There was a pile of clothes folded neatly in front of the door. Mark grabbed them and retreated back into the bathroom.

He studied himself in the mirror. The black sweatpants that Jack had lent him fit fine, but the grey T-shirt he was wearing was almost too small. It covered him like a shirt should, but it was tight. Every damn muscle on his torso was defined. Might as well be painted on, he thought. Even his nips were visible. And they weren’t even perky!

With a grumble and quick run of his fingers through his hair, Mark stepped out into the hall.

Turning to the right, he saw a tuft of green sticking up from the back of the couch. Curious, (seemed like he was being too curious lately), Mark stepped closer and peered over the couch. Jack was lounging with a cup of black coffee and watching TV.

“So what’s to eat in this place?”

Jack jumped and nearly spilled his coffee. Slightly furious, he turned his head and glared at the detective. “Ye sneaky bastard.” He grumbled and hauled himself to his feet. “There’s some bacon and eggs on a plate for ya in the microwave. I trust you can find the coffee yourself. Mugs are in the cabinet above it.”

Mark thanked him and turned into the kitchen. It was small, with a sink, stove, refrigerator, and microwave all tucked into a square cubicle-like area.

Once Mark had his food and a piping hot cup of coffee, he sat gingerly in a recliner seat while Jack continued to watch the television. Mark stuffed his face with an egg as he turned his gaze towards the colorful screen. 

_“... we now bringing you this breaking news. Stacey?”_

_“I’m here at the Los Angeles Police Department where a kidnapping of a detective took place five days ago. Police aren’t giving much details, but here is what we do know:  
Mark Edward Fischbach, age 27, arrived at work on time on Wednesday the 27th. He was last seen by several people heading into an interrogation with a small job criminal by the name of Sean William McLoughlin. Two of Fischbach’s friends and co-workers saw both men leave the interrogation room. Security footage shows McLoughlin and Fischbach exiting the building and getting into Fischbach’s car. McLoughlin then proceeded in hitting Fischbach over the head with a gun before driving off. Police are still looking into the crime and motive, and are waiting to hear from the thief with a ransom of sorts. This is Stacey Williams, reporting li-.”_

Jack shut the TV off and took a drink from his mug. Mark gave him a hostile glance. 

“So are you going to explain to me what’s going on here?”

“Nope.”

Mark growled and sipped from his own mug. “You expect me to sit here and take your mysterious hero bullshit?”

“Yep.”

“And there’s no way of making you tell me?”

“Notta chance.” Jack took a sip from his mug. Mark eyed the thing and then glared Jack right in the eyes.

“I think you’ll find I can be quite convincing when the need arises.”

“Is that so?”

Mark smirked. “Indeed it is.”

The detective flinched at his own words. They sounded… awkward. _The fuck am I doing?_ Mark looked away and glanced down at his empty plate.

“Here, I’ll take it,” Jack said as he rose to his feet, acting like nothing happened. Mark handed him the plate and watched him set it in the sink. The detective noticed how relaxed the man looked. _He’s not worried about this whole thing at all._

Mark gave him a wary glance as Jack set his mug in the sink. “I’ve got to run to the store real quick. Unfortunately for you, you’ll have to stay here. Wouldn’t want someone to recognize you.”

Jack grinned as the detective gave him a surprised look. “And how do you plan to keep me here? Chain me to the wall?”

“I was kind of thinking that, but then I decided to go a bit more modern.”

The Irishman opened one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out a hefty black bracelet. The thing was monstrous, and looked like it weighed about five pounds. He turned back to Mark and held it up for him to see.

“This is a state-of-the-art explosive device my friend. Once this baby is strapped to your wrist, you can’t go anywhere. If you do, you’ll be blown to bits. It’s radius-sensitive, meaning if you go beyond a 20 feet of this place, boom,” he made an explosion with his hands. “It’s buh-bye Mark.”

The detective glared at him. “And what makes you think you can get that thing on me?”

Jack scoffed and rested a hand on his hip, striking a sassy pose. “Please. Have you forgotten about your condition already?”

Mark seemed to deflate a bit. Jack grinned and crossed the room, twirling the bracelet around his finger. “Don’t worry detective, I’ll take it off once I come home.”

Jack approached the detective and snatched his right arm. Mark tried to jerk it away, but found he was too weak, and that the action aggravated his wounds. Jack quickly slid the bracelet over Mark’s wrist and tightened it. He then pulled a key out of nowhere and locked the bracelet in place. Mark withdrew his arm and tried to pry the thing off, but it was on tight.

Jack chuckled and dangled the key in front of Mark’s face. “You won’t be able to get it off without this.”

Mark eyed the key and glared at him. 

The Irishman grinned and tucked the key in his pocket. “I’ll be back in an hour or so,” he said as he made his way towards his bedroom to change. “Feel free to do whatever, sleep, eat, watch TV, whatever. Just don’t leave.” He disappeared into his room and shut the door. 

Mark glared after the crook. Once the man had disappeared into his room, the detective studied the device that had been placed on his wrist. It was thick and sturdy, yet surprisingly light. He took note of a small blinking red light. _So it’s active._ Mark glanced warily at the closed door that shielded him from his “host”. Feeling a bit conflicted, Mark just sat there with his legs tucked underneath him and stared at his new accessory.


	6. Chapter 6

Jack came out of his room dressed in faded skinny jeans and a black long sleeved shirt. He wore his black and white beanie along with his glasses, knowing they would alter his looks a bit. As he shuffled around with the cash in his wallet, making sure he had enough, he paused in the living room. The Irishman glanced at the detective and smirked at the older man’s face. 

“Something the matter, detective?”

Mark lifted his head and blinked at him. Something in the man’s face shifted, and Jack couldn’t catch the change quick enough to place it.

The detective blinked again and inhaled sharply, as if shaking himself out of a thought. “No, no problem. Except for this thing,” he raised his arm while looking at Jack. The Irishman chuckled as he tucked his wallet into his back pocket. 

“Well, I’m sorry about that. But it’s for your own good. Trust me.”

“Oh? And how so?”

Jack looked at the door and adjusted his hat. “Why must you argue with me? Can’t you just accept the fact that I’m protecting you by keeping you here?” He glanced back at the detective. His tone had come out a bit harsher than he intended, but he hoped he got the point across. The Irishman just wanted him to stop asking questions.

Mark gave him a slightly confused look, and then he sighed. “Fine. I won’t ask about this shit storm anymore.”

Jack caught the hint of anger and hurt in the other man’s voice, but he chose to ignore it. “Alright,” he said as he made his way towards the door. “I’ll be back in an hour. I might bring back pizza for lunch. And I’ll put more bandages on your wounds when I get back. Gotta let them breath for bit.”

Mark said nothing as the younger man opened the door and stepped out. He could just make out what awaited him beyond the door. It was a white wall. _Fascinating._

Jack shut the door and locked it, disappearing from Mark’s view.

The detective could now tell, from the glimpse he’d just gotten, that he was in some sort of condo apartment building. Curious, he hauled himself to his feet and went to the window above the sink and peered out. 

He must have been three stories up. The street below was completely void of cars, and the small lawn that surrounded the tall building was green and manicured. Upon glancing left he saw the railing of a balcony. When he looked up, he saw that there were no other floors. 

_Top floor, huh? Guess there’s no jumping._ Mark peered across the street. It was an empty lot full of weeds and a few bare patches of dirt. There were a few children playing with a ball. He blinked. Then he caught sight of his host walking down the street. Jack approached a simple silver car that was parked on the curb and slid in. He turned on the vehicle and drove away. Mark followed the vehicle with his gaze until it took a left further down the street. Once the car was out of sight, Mark sprang into action. 

Well, he didn’t really spring. He physically couldn’t move very fast at all. He kind of limped/slouched instead of sprang. 

Mark made it to the room he was staying in and approached the pile of clothes on the chair. Sifting through them, he discovered he had his wallet and car keys, but his phone was missing. Cursing softly, he left the room and paused in the hall. 

There were five other doors. The one closest to him was the bathroom, he knew that. _But what about the other three?_ Mark approached the one to the left of the bathroom and flung it open. The boiler room. Enthralling. He closed the door and went to the one next to it. A laundry room. Riveting. Grumbling to himself, he turned around and faced the final door. This one was Jack’s room. Mark gripped the handle tight and flung the door open.

At first all he could see was a simple bed with a black comforter and a black bookshelf. As he stepped into the room, he saw a desk, a cherry oak dresser, a nightstand, a closet, and a personal bathroom. Simple, yet classy. 

Mark turned towards the bookshelf and saw that it held everything but books. There were green eyeball plushies, figurines of all sorts, and strange little knickknacks that he didn’t recognize, and a framed insect. Mark blinked and shook his head. 

Everything else in the room was bare of accessories, except for the nightstand, which contained an alarm clock, a lamp, and an empty glass. Mark hurried over to it and opened the drawer. There was nothing unusual in there, just some travel tissues, a manga novel, and a phone charger. 

Mark spent the next 30 minutes rummaging through Jack’s stuff. The guy was either really clean or very good at hiding things. Mark found nothing out of the ordinary, and he didn’t find what he was looking for; a phone. 

Cursing, he then looked through the rest of the house. There was no phone. He had no way of communicating with the outside world. 

But wait. There were computers, weren’t there? Perhaps he could send out an email!

Mark limped heavily to his room and sat himself down at the large desk. Turning on the computers and waking up the monitors, he was met with a gigantic slap in the face. It was password protected.

The detective grumbled and tried a combination. Denied. He tried another. Denied. Frustration began to build. Denied. Perhaps he could try- Denied. 

Mark growled and shoved away from the desk, obviously defeated and angry. He glanced at the bomb on his wrist. 

With a sigh the detective stood from the chair and went to the bed. He sat on the edge of it and stared at the floor. After letting his mind wander for a bit, he lied back gingerly and stretched himself out, his sore muscles singing and his wounds screaming. Mark laid there, conflicted and worn. Sleep sounded nice. The detective let his eyes close as he forced himself to fall asleep. It didn’t take long before he was lightly snoring and dreaming of green apples dancing over a rainbow.

 

Jack stepped out of his recently borrowed car and peered down the street. It was empty, as usual.

He hoisted the bags he had in arms and made his way across and down the street. The Irishman bounced up the concrete steps of the condo apartment building and fished in his pockets for his keys. Once he had the jingling mess out of his pocket and sorted out, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. Immediately turning to the left, he began his trek up three flights of stairs. 

As he reached the top, Jack let out a breath. Climbing those stairs had been quite the challenge for him when he first moved in, but now they weren’t his worst enemy. At the top of the stairs there was a door. Jack opened it and stepped through. 

He was now in a hallway that held four doors and an elevator. With a sigh of relief, he approached the nearest door and slid his key into the lock. Turning it and then the knob, he entered his condo apartment.

Jack kind of expected the detective to be lounging on the couch, watching TV or something. But the front room was empty. With a slight frown Jack put down the groceries he was carrying and walked into the hall. He stood there for a moment, listening. 

There was deep, steady breathing coming from the tech room. Jack reached out and pushed open the door. 

Mark was passed out on the bed, sprawled on his stomach. His face was partially hidden in the crook of his tan, muscular arm. He looked pretty peaceful. Jack chuckled and walked over to him, making sure his steps were light and quiet. Once he was right next to him, he checked the detective’s face. He hadn’t even flinched.

With a small smirk, Jack reached forward and gingerly pinched the hem of Mark’s shirt. He tried to slowly slip it upwards, but found that it was nearly impossible. The shirt was too tight, and slipping it off without waking him would not be doable. Jack sighed in irritation and grabbed the hem with his other hand and tried to pull it forward. This time, the shirt moved a little. Mark stirred and shifted a little, but he didn’t wake up. Jack halted his movements, but then continued.

After a few seconds of easy pulling, Mark’s shirt was up to his shoulder blades and most of the wounds on his back were fully exposed. Jack released the shirt and leaned closer, inspecting the wounds. 

The gashes had been cleaned out well enough, and a few of the smaller cuts were scabbed over. The redness that had been there yesterday was faded, and Mark’s skin looked healthier. Jack let out a breath of relief and straightened. Perhaps he could treat the detective’s wounds while he was sleeping. The Irishman let himself out of the room and he went to the bathroom. Turning on the light, he went to the cupboards beneath the sink and rummaged through them, retrieving medical tape, ointment, and gauze pads. 

Jack stepped back into the room and set his tools down on the desk. He then began to bandages Mark’s wounds.

 

As he put the last piece of tape in place, Jack jumped as Mark produced a chuckle. It was groggy and deep.

_“Y’know, you have soft hands for a guy.”_

Jack growled and stepped off the bed. _He’s been awake this whole time?!_ “Watch your mouth. You’re lucky I even do any of this for you.”

Again Mark chuckled as he moved his head to look at Jack, keeping it rested on his arm. His hair was a mess and his eyes were half-lidded and dark. 

“You’re lying.”

Jack blinked and took a step back. The detective smirked as he studied him.

“I can tell by your body language and hands. See, you’re relaxed, yet oddly tense as well. Plus your hands are extremely gentle yet sure, as if you want to be delicate yet thorough. And you’re eyes. There’s no dislike in there. Only worry. And guilt.”

Mark laughed slightly and shook his head. “Makes me wonder what’s going on with you and your criminal boys, McLoughlin.”

Jack gritted his teeth behind closed lips and glared at the detective. _Damn. He’s better than I thought._ He then cleared his throat and straightened his shirt. “Well, then you’re wrong, detective. I only feel worry for my well-being, and having you here is a huge risk. Plus, the guilt is for having to hide you from my friends. I feel bad about keeping secrets from them.”

Mark only stared at him for a few seconds before snorting. 

“You honestly expect me to believe that? You’re a terrible liar _Sean.”_

Jack didn’t bother to hide his grimace this time. The detective was really starting to tick him off. He took a few quick steps towards the prone detective and glared at him, pointing a finger in his face.

“Listen here, ye ungrateful bastard. You have no idea what I’ve done for ya. If Felix knew you were here, he’d…,” Jack let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Nevermind. Just get up. I got lunch.” He turned away from Mark and crossed his arms, glaring at his desk. He heard the detective sigh and shift on the bed. 

“Look, I’m sorry McLoughlin. I’m just confused and upset, alright? It’s not like you’ve been entirely honest with me. But can you please just tell me what’s going on here?”

Jack let Mark’s words sink in and he sighed, letting his shoulders droop.

“Fine.”

Mark pulled his shirt back down over his torso, wincing slightly as it tugged at his fresh bandages. He then slid off the bed and stood behind Jack, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks. I mean it.”

Jack scoffed and shrugged off his hand. “Whatever. Just, shut up and get in the kitchen.” He shook his head and stomped out of the room, his shoulders tight and his ears red.

Mark smirked a little before following him.


	7. Chapter 7

In the kitchen, Jack snatched the groceries off the floor and set them on the counter. As he began to unbag everything and put it away, Mark came in and sat at the table. Silence hung between for a minute or two, before Jack sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a weird looking key. “Here.” He tossed the thing to Mark, who caught it and inspected it. It was for his bomb bracelet. The detective quickly put the key to use and removed his accessory. Jack finished with the groceries and turned to Mark, leaning slightly on the counter.

“So, what do you want to know?”

Mark watched the Irishman and noted his tense frame. The guy was obviously having a hard time with this. The detective tapped his chin in thought.

“How about the break-ins. What was the deal with those?”

“Just simple jobs carried out by at least ten different dudes. The boys wanted new toys and more money for bars and strip clubs, so they did what they could to get it. Nothing too sinister there.”

“So what about Wayne Johnson, the man who was murdered? What’s his story?”

“Some rich goodie two-shoes. Me and two other men were sacking his money safe when he came home early. Damn fool should have been out drinking like he was every other night. We didn’t hear him come in because the idiots I was with were arguing about something.” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head as he recalled the memory. “He walked in on us. I tried to reason with him, and I almost had him where I wanted him, but one of the guys, Mike, he-” Jack looked out the window above the sink and crossed his arms, obviously uncomfortable. “He grabbed my gun and shot him. The guy was dead before he stopped shooting. None of us had ever killed anyone before.” 

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “We were scared, and after we realized what Mike had done, we booked it out of there, only taking what we’d grabbed before he showed up.”

Jack kept his gaze on the window and fell silent. Mark studied his face and nodded to himself, absorbing the story. _The way he acts points in all the wrong directions. It’s obvious now that he isn’t the leader of this group. Perhaps he’s more of a right-hand man?_

Mark cleared his throat. “So if the robberies were just simple jobs, then why are your men so keen in knowing what the police know?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. Felix never told me why he was giving the orders he was giving.”

“About Felix,” Mark said. Jack looked at him with a questioning look on his face.

“You make it sound like he’s the leader. I’m guessing he is, right?”

Jack blinked. “He’s not, actually. There’s a man above him who gives the orders. Felix just does all his dirty work.”

Mark sat back in his chair, stumped. “And who is that?”

Jack shrugged. “No one knows. Only Felix and Cry know. Everyone’s met him, but they don’t know his face or his name. The guy keeps to himself on a private island somewhere.”

The detective blinked and stared at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Felix talks to him on the phone every now and then, and once a month he has meetings with him.”

The detective nodded and stared down at the table. _This isn’t making any sense. Jack says the break-ins were little, pointless jobs, yet the head honcho wants to know what we know. Plus Felix said that-_

He jerked his head up, unable to control the words that tumbled from his mouth. “Why did Felix tell me you were the leader?”

For a second Jack just stared at him. Then realization came over his face and he took a step back in disbelief, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“That… that bastard! He-,” The Irishman shook his head angrily and glared up at the detective. “What else did he say?”

Mark blinked and tried to bring up the memory, his gaze focused on the steaming Irishman. “He said that it was all about what you wanted, not him. And that you were the prime target of our investigation.”

Jack didn’t move for a second. He was completely still. “And you believed him.” 

It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. Not knowing what else to do, Mark nodded slowly. Jack let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Weeell shit. This is worse than I thought.”

The detective raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

Jack glanced at him. “I guess I should tell you, huh? Jeez,” he rested a hand on his forehead and leaned against the counter. “This is going to give me a headache.” Jack sighed and crossed his arms, staring at the floor.

“It was after Cry went and spoke with you. He came out and couldn’t stop chuckling to himself, like some sort of sicko.” 

Mark internally rolled his eyes. _Good lord, has he not met the guy?_

“He came into the chill corner, as we like to call it. It’s where all the guys hang out and play video games or watch movies and stuff. Me and a few of the boys were just hangin’ out. And then he pulled a gun.” Jack shuddered and angrily shook his head. “He just started shooting people. One after another. A few tried to run, but he downed ‘em quick. He killed everyone in there, saving me for last. And then Felix showed up. He must have heard the gunfire.”

Mark held up a hand, bringing Jack’s story to a halt. “Wait a second. He just _shot_ everyone?”

“Yeah. There were five other men in there, and he blasted ‘em all.”

“…What the hell?”

“Right? Anyway,” Jack ran a hand down his face and drew in a breath. “Felix snatched the gun from Cry and bashed him over the head. Cry went down and Felix cursed at him, calling him a ‘fool’ and whatnot. But then he aimed the gun at me. Me, being the pansy that I was, just stood there, confused. He told me that he was going to kill me, that it was nothing personal, that he was doing it for him. For a while I thought he was talking about Cry, but now that I think about it, he probably meant X.”

“X?”

“It’s what we call the head honcho, since we don’t know his name. But anyways, Felix fired. He missed, thank god, which gave me enough time to collect myself and book it. I immediately ran to your holding room, knowing that you would be the perfect trump card against him.”

“And why’s that?”

“Felix wouldn’t dare kill you. Hurt you, sure, but kill you? He’d most likely be killed himself if he did. I had to knock the guys out that were guarding the door. Once I was inside, I locked myself in, knowing Felix would try to get me.”

Jack looked over at Mark and a slight look of sympathy washed over his face. “You were a mess. Your face was all bloody and bruised, you had a damn knife stuck in yer leg, and your breathing was so shallow and weak I thought you were dying. Plus your back was bleeding buckets and you were cold. At first I thought that Cry had knocked you over, but when I untied you, I saw that you had been struggling a lot. And so I picked up your heavy ass and hauled you out the back. Which wasn’t easy to get to. And then I brought you here.”

For a moment Mark didn’t say anything. His mind was reeling as he absorbed every detail that Jack had given him. Then he looked Jack in the eye and rested his chin on his fist. “At one point I remember waking up and seeing gray walls and then the sky," the detective said. "Then I saw a green blur, which I now presume was your hair,” he pointed at said hair and continued. “But then something nailed me in the head and I passed out again. What was that?”

Jack sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “That was me. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was running and I accidentally rammed your head into a pole.”

Mark stared at him. “You ran me into a pole?”

Jack chuckled and raised his hands defensively. “Hey, in my defense you’re obviously bigger than me. It was hard to run! Plus I had to keep looking over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t being followed.”

Mark growled and glared at him playfully. “How dare you do that to me! And might I ask; was that a fat joke?”

“No! No, I’m sorry, it wasn’t a fat joke,” Jack laughed and shook his head. Mark could only chuckle as the awkward tension in the room faded slightly. 

As Jack contained himself, he perked up. “Oh jeez I almost forgot.” He rummaged through the bags from his shopping trip and pulled out two bottles. He tossed them to Mark, who barely caught them.

“Here. You’ll be needing this.”

Mark glanced at him and then at the bottles. The detective raised his brow.

“Hair dye? Why?”

“Because we need to get to the bottom of this, and I can’t have you walking around looking like the missing detective. Come on, to the bathroom.”

Jack almost skipped to the bathroom. Mark watched him and then looked back at the hair dye. He slowly stood from his seat and followed Jack, his eyes scanning the bottles.

_This is wrong. I should be trying to get word to Ken, at least to let him know I’m alive. But, there’s something about this whole thing._ He made it to the bathroom and paused in the doorway. _I feel like I’m not going to be able to solve this while being restrained to the confines of the law. Perhaps I can get Jack to spill a bit more info._ The detective glanced up at Jack, who was clearing the counter and grabbing towels. He looked up from his task and smirked.

“Get in here! I’ll help you get this done, that way you don’t make a mess in here.”

Mark blinked and slowly walked in, surprised with himself. 

_I guess this is how it’s going to be. I’ll be working alongside a criminal who abducted me and then saved me._ He set the bottles down on the counter and looked at Jack. _God this is going to be weird._  
\---

A few hours later, Mark was staring at himself. The top portion of his black hair was now bright red, and seemed to glow with its own intensity. He sighed and fiddled with it. It was going to take some getting used to.

Jack had left him to his own devices and was in the kitchen, cooking something. As Mark left the bathroom and trudged into the kitchen, the sound of a ringtone echoed throughout the apartment.

Mark looked around confused as Jack lunged for a cellular device vibrating on the coffee table in front of the couch. He snatched it up and answered it.

“Yeah?”

For a few seconds Mark could only hear the mutterings of a male voice on the other end. Jack glanced at him and then at the floor, listening to the guy. 

“Great. What else did you find?” Jack walked back into the kitchen and attended to his cooking. Mark stayed where he was and listened. “Yeah, what about him? ...No, there’s no need to worry about that. ...Yes I understand but- ...Fine, alright, I’ll see you in an hour.” Jack hung up and slipped the phone in his pocket. He sighed and turned to Mark. “Wanna go get a drink?”

 

Jack let Mark borrow a hoodie that fit him perfectly and some old jeans and they headed out. Jack drove to a bar close to downtown and as they stepped out into the cool night air, Mark could tell that this place wasn’t an average bar. The parking lot was nearly void of cars, expect for three or four.

Inside was just as deserted. There were a few lone drinkers and a bartender, all of them focused on a little television in the corner. Jack walked right past them and went to a small side room. Mark followed, but kept glancing at the zombie-like men. 

In the small room Jack knelt and pulled back a dirty rug. There was a cellar door. He lifted it open and slid inside. Mark eyed him warily. 

“Come on, Detective, we don’t got all night!” Mark looked back at the men and saw that they hadn’t even looked at them. He turned back to Jack and sighed. 

“Fine, I’m coming.”

Jack made room for him to crawl in and once Mark was in the cellar door and had walked down a few steps, he closed the door. 

The duo was plunged into darkness and Mark flinched. He then flinched again as a blinding LED light was suddenly shone in his face.

“Gah! Jesus Jack, let a man know when you’re about to flash him!”

Jack chuckled as Mark rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, I guess I can’t contain myself.” He giggled like a flirtatious school girl and brushed past the detective. Mark grumbled at the poorly made joke and followed him down the stairs. 

It didn’t take long for the men to reach the bottom, and at said bottom was a door. Jack didn’t hesitate to bang on it three times. A few seconds after he did, a small panel slid open, revealing a pair of hard eyes.

“What?”

Jack waved and smiled like a goof. “Hey G, how are ya?”

“G” growled and narrowed his gaze. “Jack. What do you want?”

“Daithi called. Is he in?”

“He’s always in, ye fuck. One sec.”

The panel slid closed and a few clicks and clanks came from the other side. Then the door swung open, spilling warm yellow light into the dark stairway. It also revealed a huge man. He was bald and extremely muscular, and probably 6’2. Mark felt puny in his shadow. 

Jack strolled in and patted the man on his muscular chest as he passed. “Thanks, G.”

G grunted and glared at Mark. The detective gave him a little nod and scurried by, sticking close to Jack.

The room was packed. There were people everywhere, all of them drinking and chatting. There was an old jukebox tucked in a corner, playing some Irish-sounding jig. It had a good beat, Mark had to admit. 

Jack made his way towards the jukebox, where three men were sitting and chatting idly, each of them with a drink in their hand. Jack walked right up to one of them, a skinny fellow with dark hair and eyes. 

“Daithi. How’ve ya been?”


	8. Chapter 8

Daithi looked up from his conversation and his eyes widened slightly.

“Sean!” He set his drink on the table and held out a hand. Jack took it and they shook. “Damn it’s been too long! Give me just a sec,” he said in his heavy Irish accent. Daithi turned to the men he was previously speaking to and shook their hands. “My apologies, gentlm’n. We’ll continue ‘dis anodder time, yeah?”

The two men said their goodbyes and stood, brushing past Mark and Jack and disappearing through the door. Daithi motioned to the two now empty seats. Jack took one without hesitation while the detective cautiously lowered himself into the wooden chair.

Soon a round of beers was brought to the table. Daithi and Jack immediately went for them, while Mark hung back. He didn’t have his pills, so he would have to drink very little if not at all.

Jack took a hearty swallow of his beer and then smacked his lips. “So, what did ya call me here for? What couldn’t you say over the phone?”

Daithi glanced at Mark before leaning forward and lowering his voice. “Felix came in lookin’ for ya. Had Cry and a few of the odder boys with ‘im. Said dat he was givin’ out a high price to anyone who found ya.”

Jack cursed and looked around the room. Daithi chuckled. “No need t’ worry. Da boys here all know that ye would never do somethin’ dat permits a headprice. We’ve already kicked out da ones who claimed dey’d come and find ya.” 

Jack let out a sigh of relief and nodded towards Daithi. “Thanks for that,” he said as he went for another sip of his beer. 

Daithi nodded back and then turned his gaze towards Mark. The detective shifted uncomfortably and took a little sip of beer. 

“So who’s dis?”

Jack grinned and slapped Mark on the shoulder. “An old buddy. He’s helping me out with this mess.” Mark glanced at him and then cleared his throat. 

“Uh yeah, I’m an old friend from college.”

Jack nodded. “Yep. Didn’t know he was in the business until a few weeks ago. Called him up for a visit and then whaddya know, this happens!”

Daithi nodded and studied Mark. “Ah, so you studied in Irel’nd, then?”

The detective nodded. “Yeah, for a little while.”

“You like the country?”

“Oh yeah, it’s, it’s great.”

Mark could feel the sweat running down his back. Daithi’s questions were making him nervous, and the gaze that bore into him was unsettling and unsure. If Daithi suspected anything, it was definitely that he was a fake. 

After a few moments of silence, Daithi shrugged and turned back to Jack. “So, whaddya know about 'dis mess?”

“Well, I know that Felix and Cry have been setting this up for a while. Whether X was involved or not is questionable, but I now know that Felix is a main component.”

“Aye, and Cry and his boys are pretty ticked. He and 'dat one bastard,” Daithi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, what’s his name? The guy 'dat’s super tall with blonde hair and brown eyes? Scar on his jaw?”

Jack straightened. “Jim?”

“Yeah, ol’ Jim! He and Cry put a couple people out like a light when 'dey came in.”

Mark glanced at Jack to see him staring at the table. His brow was knit together in confusion and his blue eyes were dark.

Mark nudged him. “Jack, you alright?”

Jack blinked and looked at him and then shook his head. “Uh yeah, maybe, I don’t know.” He shook his head again and took a drink from his beer. It was nearly half gone. 

Daithi and Mark glanced at each other before Mark placed a hand on Jack’s arm. “Jack?”

Jack sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Jim was in the room Cry shot up. I saw him die. There was blood everywhere. _I saw him die.”_

Mark’s brow leapt upward and he looked at Daithi. The Irishman shrugged and took a drink from his beer. The detective looked back at Jack. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course I’m sure!” He scowled and lifted his beer back to his lips, draining the bottle.

Daithi eyed the bottle before he turned his gaze to Jack. “What exactly happened in ‘der, Sean?”

Jack glanced at his fellow Irishman, and then at Mark. The detective nodded.

With a deep breath, he began his tale of how Cry and Felix attacked him, making sure to twist the story a bit, making it seem like Mark was there as a visitor with him, not as a prisoner.

 

As the story was spilled, Jack downed several more beers. Mark only finished half of his, and Daithi had only two more. By the time Jack finished, he was slurring his words slightly and leaning against the wall in his chair.

“’N that’s how Mark ‘n I eshcaped,” he muttered, taking another swig from a fresh bottle.

Daithi sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Jesus, it sounds like we may have a bit of a problem ‘den.”

Jack scoffed. “You’re tellin’ me.”

Mark glanced at Jack and took note of his red cheeks and flustered hair. He was a drunken mess. The detective sighed. “Jack I think it’s time we left.”

Jack turned to look at him while Daithi laughed. “Aye, you’re a bit far gone ‘dere Sean.” 

The wasted Irishman opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, reaching for his beer and chugging it down. Once he drained it, he slammed the bottle on the table. “Fine. I’m ready.”

Mark and Daithi stood and shook hands while Jack struggled to sit upright. “Well Daithi it was nice to meet you.”

“Same here, Maerk. Take care of ol’ Sean here.” They both turned to watch said drunk stand and clumsily grip the edge of the table to anchor himself. Both men chuckled. “I’ll be sure to check in with Sean later.”

“Alright, sounds good. See ya around?”

“Aye, you’ll be seein’ me.”

Mark chuckled and reached for Jack’s arm. “Come on, you lush.”

Jack struggled against him as the detective drug him across the bar and towards the door. G watched them as he opened the door and let them out. Jack glared up at him and stuck out his tongue like a small child. 

“Bye G! You stink!”

G did nothing but shake his head and close the door, smothering the two in darkness. Jack fell silent as Mark felt for the stairs. Once he found them, he started to climb, attempting to haul Jack’s ass with him. 

Ever tried hauling a drunk up a set of stairs in the dark? Yeah, it’s hard. Jack kept tripping and almost pulling Mark backwards, nearly causing a nasty fall. Mark growled with irritation and took a step down. Jack was on his knees on the step just below him, trying to crawl up the stairs. With another grumble, Mark jerked Jack to his feet and slipped an arm behind his knees. With a quick, effortless motion, he swung Jack off his feet and held him bridal style.

Jack cried out in surprise and his arms instinctively went around Mark’s neck. “W-What are y’doing, ya fook?!”

“I’m carrying your drunk ass up these stairs. God you’re such a pain.”

Jack mumbled something under his breath and fell silent. Mark shook his head and began to ascend the stairs.

Once they reached the cellar door, Mark found he could just shove it open with his shoulder. The wooden slab creaked as he shoved it open and slammed against the floor.

Mark cringed at the sound and peeked into the bar. It was empty. 

The detective blinked and shrugged, making his way out of the cellar. Once he was fully above ground, he made to set Jack down.

Only he found he couldn’t. Jack’s grip on his neck was firm and his face was buried into the detective’s chest. The Irishman emitted soft snores.

Mark smirked. _Good lord he’s out like a light._ The detective then struggled to close the cellar door with his foot before exiting the bar. 

 

The night air was cool and refreshing. Mark paused and looked around. Jack’s car was the only one in the parking lot, and it was shrouded in darkness. There was only one streetlight, and it was basically in the opposite direction of Jack’s car. The detective grumbled as he made his way towards the silver car in the dark. 

As he approached the vehicle, he felt something was off. Glancing around he saw that they were the only people around, yet something made his gut twinge with nerves. Pushing the thought out of his head, he checked the car doors. 

They were unlocked, thank god, and Mark was able to situate the passed out Irishman in the passenger seat before he got into the driver’s seat. 

Mark looked around the car, checking for the keys. They were nowhere to be found.

_Goddamnit…_ He glanced at Jack’s jean pockets and sighed. He reached over and patted them. 

His fingers found the shape of a key head in his right pocket. Feeling victorious and confident, he leaned over Jack’s lap and shoved his hand into the material.

Just then Jack’s head rolled to the side and he groaned. When he cracked open an eye, Mark froze. He looked up at the Irishman as Jack’s eyes widened.

They stared at each other for a moment, their faces slowly heating up and turning red. It was Jack who broke the awkward silence. 

“Um, Mark, what are you doing?”

Mark blinked and retracted his hand as if it had been burned and sat up quickly. 

“I-I was looking for the keys.”

Jack gazed at him for a moment before nodding quickly and slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out the keys.

Mark muttered a “thanks” as Jack handed him the ring of keys. Once he crammed the correct key into the ignition and cranked the car to life, he turned his gaze back to Jack.

 

In the dark it was hard to make out his face, but Mark could definitely see the redness that washed over his face. Whether it was from the alcohol or not, he wasn’t sure. He sat slumped in the seat with his hands between his knees as if they were cold. Mark reached over and turned on the heater.

“So, how do I get back to your place?”

Jack turned his head and stared at him. “What?”

“Where’s your house?”

Jack shook his head. “No, I heard you the first time. Why are we going back there?”

Mark blinked. “What?”

The Irishman ran a hand through his hair and sat back in the seat, staring out the window. A soft breath escaped him. “You realize that you could just take me back to the station, right? Drive right on up and dump my drunk ass in a cell. Then you could catch Felix and Cry and all the boys. Daithi too.” He drew in a sharp breath. Mark caught the way it shuddered. Was he…?

“I’m too stupid to be doing this. I’m too emotional, not tough enough. That’s why Felix and Cry turned on me. I’m too soft to be in this line of work,” he mumbled, his voice cracking as he mentioned his old partners. Jack shook his head again and turned his gaze to the ceiling. “I’m too weak. I’m not strong enough.”

And in the dim glow of the single streetlight, Mark could make out the tears trickling down his face.

The detective opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. He barely knew this man! He’d only been with him for what, 48 hours? That he was awake for? What could he do to comfort him? 

Nothing. There was nothing. Jack was a thief, a common criminal. And he was a detective, a man of the law.

Mark sat there, letting his options roll around in his head. He could most definitely take Jack to the station. And then he really could bust Felix and Cry. Whoever X was would still be out there, but that was fine. He had enough info to eventually track down the guy.

But what about Jack? He had saved him from certain death, no doubt, he had been a decent host, if you wanted to call it that, and he had brought him along without a second thought. Mark gritted his teeth as his grip tightened on the steering wheel. _But what about me? When do I get to decide what happens to me?_ He was sick of been bounced between people like a shitty kids’ toy.

The detective looked out at the empty lot before them and sighed. 

“I’m sorry Jack.”

Jack didn’t make a sound as he rolled his head to the side and stared out the window. 

Mark felt guilt slam into his stomach as he reached down and put the car in drive. He glanced at the man next to him before he urged the car forward and onto the street. He turned left and made his way towards the station.


	9. Chapter 9

Ken was, to say the least, very upset. 

It had been five days since Mark’s disappearance. Well, six, if you counted that it was the ugly early morning now. And Ken was only a tiny step closer to finding anything. 

The burly chief ran a hand through his hair and down his face, trying to wipe away his exhaustion and frustration. He had been at the office for 48 hours straight, only taking a short nap on his lunch break. And what did he have to show for it? Some inner-uprising in one of the smaller, meaner gangs that McLoughlin had allegedly been involved with. One witness that he was able to snag from the ordeal said he thought he might have seen the green-haired man, but wasn’t sure. Apparently it was dark.

After a bit more investigation into the deal, he came up empty-handed. Even after he attempted to find McLoughlin’s home, he came up short. There was literally nothing. It was like McLoughlin was a ghost.

 

Ken sighed and glanced at the clock. 2:30 AM. He was the only one here, beside the night crew of people. The front doors were locked. He reached for his mug and took a sip from it, relishing the taste of the black coffee within. As he set the ceramic back down on his desk, a loud banging suddenly come from the front of the station. With his office being only a few doors down from the main lobby, he heard it quite well. 

Cautious, Ken reached for his gun and tucked it into his belt. Chances are it was just a person in need of something, but one could never be sure. He stood and left his office, walking briskly towards the lobby.

As he rounded the corner, he caught the sight of a serious bright splotch of red standing out from the darkness outside. But after he blinked a few times and his eyes focused, his heart nearly burst.

_It was Mark._

The very detective that he’d been searching for for days was standing outside, his fist pressed against the glass and an urgent look on his face. For a moment Ken could only stand there, staring at him.

“Ken! Let me in, hurry!”

Mark’s voice, muffled by the glass, broke him from his trance and he dashed to the door and unlocked it. Mark wasted no time in slipping inside and shutting the door. Ken relocked it before turning towards him.

Mark was bent over, his hands on his knees, and his breathing was labored. Blood trickled from a gash on his temple, and his clothes, which Ken didn’t recognize, were dirty and in disarray. He looked like a complete mess.

“Mark, how- ”

The detective abruptly stood upright and snatched Ken’s arm. He then set off at a quick pace, towards Ken’s office. Confused and slightly frightened by his friend’s actions, Ken tried to resist him.

“Mark, let go. What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain in a minute.”

His voice was stern and a bit shaky. Ken gave him a worried look.

They reached Ken’s office and Mark hurried them inside. He then shut the door and rested his back against it, letting out a breath.

Ken stood there, watching him. “Mark, where have you been?”

He decided to keep the frantic questions at a minimum and just start with the basics. Mark had just shown up out of nowhere after he’d been missing for six days. Ken had to know what was going on. 

Mark lifted his gaze from the floor and stared right at him. He then gave a half-hearted chuckle. “You’ll need to sit down.”

 

After the two of them got situated in the chairs within the office, Mark leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the surface of Ken’s desk, which was littered with papers. He sighed.

"So, you know that Jack- I mean Sean, abducted me, right?” 

Ken questioned the correction he made when referring to McLoughlin, but he pushed the thought aside as he nodded.

“And you know that he had a gun on me the whole time? That there was nothing I could do?”

“We gathered that much from the security tapes.”

Mark let out a breath. “Good. Just thought I'd get that out of the way.” He ran a hand through his red hair, which Ken was mightily confused about. Mark then rubbed his face with his hands as he continued.

“After he knocked me out in the car, I woke up in some room. I’m thinking it was an abandoned warehouse or something. But I was tied to a chair. My phone was gone, and there was a guy in there. He told me some things, and then he left.”

Ken raised a brow. “That’s it?”

“No, let me finish,” Mark said, lowering his gaze to the floor, his brow furrowed. “After a little while a few more men came in. They asked me questions. Questions about the case.”

Ken’s eyes widened a little. “Did you tell them anything?”

Mark smirked and met his gaze. “Not a chance in hell. But as a reward,” he stood and began removing his jacket and shirt. “They tortured me. For two days. First was the beating, and then the whipping.” He pulled off his shirt all the way and turned his back to Ken, who gasped and shot to his feet.

Mark’s back was covered in gashes of varying length and depth. They were all scabbed over, but they still looked painful and a few would definitely scar. Ken couldn’t help himself as he reached over and traced one of them.

“Good God…,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Mark muttered. “I had help getting them to heal, otherwise I might have bled out.”

He turned back to Ken and started dressing himself. “After those two days were done and I didn’t give in, they sent their torture tech. Cry, if you remember him at all,” he said as he zipped up the jacket and sat back down. 

Ken took his seat as well and nodded, images of Mark’s back still stuck in his mind. “Y-Yeah I remember him a bit.”

“Well, he’s part of this thing. Asked me some more questions then used my leg as a knife block.” He motioned to his left thigh. Nothing unusual was visible there, but Ken could only imagine. 

“After all that, I blacked out. Blood loss. Then the next thing I know, I was lying in some garbage bin, by some docks. They must have thought I was dead and tossed me out. I got some help from an old medicine woman and then made my way here.”

Ken blinked and stared at him. “An old medicine woman? Why not go to a hospital, with a phone to let me know you were alive?!” He raised his voice and glared at Mark with disbelief.

“I didn’t want to get the media involved. Lord knows what would have happened then.”

Ken let out an angry breath and shook his head. “What about your hair?”

“I had to dye it to keep a low profile. It should wash out in a couple of days.”

“What about McLoughlin? Where was he?”

Mark shrugged. “Don’t know. Cry said something about him not following the plan and paying the price. My guess is that he’s dead.”

Ken took a minute to absorb the story and then sighed. “So you just happened to get lucky enough to be thrown out and was able to escape?”

Mark shrugged and looked at his feet. “I guess so. Believe me, I’m just as confused as you are.”

Ken caught the hint of strain in his voice and shook his head. “I’m just glad you’re alright, Mark. You had a lot of people scared, you know that right?”

He nodded.

“I think the first course of action here is calling your family.” Mark looked up at him with a surprised look on his face. “Then we need to get you to a hospital. After that we can notify the station and the other organizations, and then the media. That way there isn’t an unnecessary fear in the public."

Mark only stared at him for a couple of seconds before he nodded. Ken smiled and reached for his phone. 

 

A few hours later, at about ten in the morning, Mark was home.

He had spoken with several people from different departments about his experience, telling them exactly what he had told Ken. When he called his family, there were plenty of tears, on both ends. His mother had been a mess, and when his brother got on the phone with a choked up voice, Mark had lost it himself. 

After that emotionally draining conversation he was taken to the hospital. There they checked his wounds and such, saying he was well enough to rest at home with antibiotics and pain killers. While he was there, Bob and Wade came to see him, as well as Aaron. They were all relieved to see him alive and well. Both Bob and Wade apologized like crazy for not catching on when he and Jack had walked out of the station. Mark told them that it was fine, and that if they had done anything, Sean would have shot up the place. 

Once he was done there, Ken drove him home. Without his phone and car, he would have to wait until the department replaced them. Plus he was on strict bedrest for a week, to let his body and mind recoup before diving back into work.

He knew that a newscast would go out tonight saying that he had been found and was fine, just a little shaken up. He didn’t want any more details than that floating around in the public. The report would also say that the people responsible were still at large, so people should be on the lookout. 

Mark sat there on his bed, just staring. He stared at nothing in particular, just at nothing. He was still in the clothes Jack had lent him. He was replaying the events of the last 12 hours over and over and over in his mind.

 

_He’d been driving. They were on a quiet back street. Jack was still silent in the passenger seat, probably pissed about him making the decision to go to the station. They came to a stop sign. As he’d been pulling out, he caught a glimpse of the sleek body of a car as it sped towards them. He didn’t even have time to react._

_The other car plowed into the right side of their car, the impact causing the vehicle to skid to the left and swerve. Mark’s head slammed into his window, cracking the glass. Mark could hear Jack screaming over the sound of crunching metal and shattering glass._

_Once the car stopped moving, he could just make out the unconscious form of Jack beside him through his blurred vision. Then suddenly his door was opened and he was dragged out of the car. A fist smashed into his face and he fell to the ground, catching himself with his elbows. From there he struggled to stay on his hands and knees._

_Suddenly Jack was lying on the ground next to him, his eyes closed and face bloody and his right arm bent at an uncanny angle. Shock settled in Mark’s gut as he looked down at him._

_And then Jack gone, hauled away by some person clad completely in black. A rough grip encircled his own arm and jerked him to his feet. Mark turned his head, still dazed from the collision, and studied the person who was holding him up. Blonde hair, super tall, a thick, jagged scar along his jawline. Wasn’t his name Jim? Mark felt himself being pulled forward._

_Instinct kicked in, and he struggled against Jim. He managed to break free, and he took off running. At first he thought he might throw up as his head pounded and told him to stop. But the angry voices coming from behind him fueled his desire to escape, and he kept going._

_Soon the voices began to fade. He rounded a corner and ducked down behind a pile of trash bags and boxes. The voices grew louder, and then they were right there. Mark held his breath._

_“Where’d he go?”_

_“Ah t’hell with him.”_

_“Shouldn’t we get ‘im? What if he goes to the cops?”_

_“He_ is _a cop, you idiot. But if I’ve learned one thing from Kjellberg, it’s that this guy is the definition of good. He won’t leave McLoughlin behind.”_

_“Are ya sure?”_

_There was a moment of silence, and then a quiet chuckle. “Hey Fischbach!” the second guy shouted. “Shame you had to run off! Ol’ Jackaboy’s gonna get all the attention now! Hopefully he lives long enough to tell you all about it!”_

_There was silence again, and then the men walked away, their footsteps fading. A few minutes later Mark heard the squealing of tires and the sound of a car revving, and then the roar of the engine died away, leaving him in silence._

 

After that he had collected himself and continued on towards the station, still in a bit of shock. It wasn’t until the station was in sight that he finally thought about what happened and started to come up with a plan. Then he realized that his head was bleeding, and he no doubt had a bit of a concussion. A little worried he had picked up his pace and reached the station. Then he banged on the door, hoping someone was able to hear him.

 

Mark sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He had grown accustomed to the red, and found he enjoyed it. He let his fingers tangle themselves in his hair as he dropped his elbow onto his knee, forcing his gaze to drop to the floor.

_They took him. They meant to take both of us, but I got away. They’ll torture, no, kill him._ His detective brain was in hyper-drive, trying to analyze every little detail about the past few days. 

_Jack said there were other rooms in the building. He also mentioned games. That means the building would have to be within city limits, in order to get the best Internet connection._ He lifted his head and furrowed his brow. The room he had been in had a back door, apparently from what Jack said. Yet he felt that he had been underground. A bomb shelter maybe? That could mean that it had an entrance leading directly to the outside, but still have a door that went further into the building. Not many buildings had bomb shelters anymore.

Mark abruptly stood up and made his way into the kitchen. It was just how he left it, a few plates and cups here, a mug in the sink, and the trash still waiting to be taken out. With that final thought he lifted the bag out of the bin and tied it, setting it by the door to take out later. 

On his way back to the kitchen through his sitting room, his tired eyes caught a little white slip of paper on the floor. He stopped and picked it up, flipping it over.

The numbers printed in plain blue text made his mouth go dry.

_27, 2, 87, 28, 7, 6_

He quickly flipped it over. 

_Your whole world is about to change._

For a moment he just stared at the cheesy fortune. Then he couldn’t help but chuckle. “It really did, didn’t it?” He had been kidnapped, tortured, rescued, and then drug into an ordeal with a thief who he was beginning to grow fond of. Which was to be proven by what he was about to do. 

Mark smirked and slipped the fortune into his pocket. 

He then proceeded in changing out of his borrowed clothes and into his own sleepwear. His wounds still ached, but they were definitely on the easy slope to healing. His leg was still a bitch though, even though he didn’t have to get stitches or anything, surprisingly. Mark then put himself to bed.

He was emotionally and physically drained, stressed, and worn. He hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in a couple of days. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep.

 

Yet his dreams decided that he should continue to be restless. They were filled with images of his own torture, and then he saw Jack. 

The poor bastard was tied to a metal chair. Blood was oozing from his temple and mouth, and his eyes were closed. Bruises decorated the non-bloody parts of his face. He looked terrible. 

Then out of the darkness came a man. He was clad in classy jeans and a leather jacket, and his face was hidden from view. In his hands he held a syringe filled with clear liquid. He didn’t hesitate to gingerly slide the needle into Jack’s neck, where he slowly released the liquid. 

Mark’s dream began to fade, but he was able to catch a glimpse of Jack jerking up in his seat and letting out an agony-filled scream. He then began to spasm as his scream turned into choked gasps. Just as Mark’s view of him faded completely, he heard that pain-filled voice echo throughout his head.

_“Detective…"_

Mark then found himself standing in a solid white room, and Jack was standing right in front of him, perfectly unscathed. There were tears in his eyes, and he was reaching out, as if trying to grab hold of someone. Mark tried to reach out, to talk to him. But he found he was unable to do anything except stand there. Jack’s face was contorted into a mixture of pain and sorrow.

_“M-Mark….”_

And then Jack was falling, his eyes wide and mouth partly open in shock. A splotch of red blossomed in the center of his chest. He hit the ground with a thickening thump and lay still. There was dead silence. Then suddenly Felix’s voice filled the air, wavering between a whisper and a large shout as he spoke. Mark couldn’t make sense of the words. And then he was right there, standing over Jack’s limp body. Blood from the lifeless corpse pooled out and touched the toes of Felix’s shoes.

He smirked at Mark. _“Better hurry, Detective.”_

And then they were gone, and Mark was surrounded by darkness, falling. He was hurtling towards nothingness at an incredible speed. He closed his eyes, afraid of what was to come.


	10. Chapter 10

Mark’s eyes flew open as he inhaled sharply. The images of Jack beaten and bloody, of him dying, still burned bright in his mind. Glancing quickly over to his alarm clock, he saw it was three in the afternoon. 

The detective let out a slow breath and ran a hand down his face. Pulling it away he saw that he was sweating. Mark shook his head and pulled back the covers.

 

He took care of business in the bathroom and then went into the kitchen. Wiping more sweat from his brow, he snatched a glass and filled it with water. Mark drank greedily, some excess water dripping off his chin. He drained the glass and let out a breath. Setting the empty container on the counter and wiping his mouth, the detective stood there for a moment. 

_God I’m such an idiot._

Mark went back into his room and changed into jeans and a flannel. Then he went into the sitting room, where the company phone that Ken was letting him use sat on the coffee table. He snatched the phone up, flipped it open, and dialed a cab.

He was going to get to the bottom of this. He was going to find out what was going on in this city he adored. He was going to rescue Jack, if he wasn't too late. And he’d have to do it his own way, outside the law.

Mark let out a breath as the number dialed back and began ringing. _Here goes nothing._  
\--- 

 

_“Seeaaan…”_

Jack’s eyes twitched as he heard his name being murmured in the distance. _Who’s there?_

_“It’s time to wake up, Sean. Wake uuuup…”_

Jack let out a soft breath as he managed to crack open his eyes just a little. He couldn’t see anything except blurred gray.

“Ah, there’s a good boy! Felix, he’s awake!”

A pair of footsteps came from his right, and then a hot breath brushed against his face. “Yeah, great.” Felix’s voice was dripping with sarcasm and disgust. Jack attempted to lift his head but found he was incredibly weak. Just keeping his eyes open a few centimeters was a challenge.

As he struggled to stay awake, his vision focused a little. The gray blur turned into a concrete floor, pocketed with scratches and deep gouges. It was filthy and had a fine layer of dust to top it off. He studied the floor and a deep feeling of dread settled in his stomach.

Suddenly there was a warm grip on his chin. His head was then lifted and he was staring into the face of Felix. The Swede was glaring down at him, his blue eyes piercing him with a gaze of disgust. In his weakened state, all Jack could do was stare back at him, his head supported fully by Felix’s fingers. 

Felix scoffed and turned Jack’s head, studying something on the right side of his face.

“That’s a nasty gash. Lucky your brains didn’t fall out.” He turned Jack’s head the other way and clicked his tongue. “And that one too. Jesus Jack, you’re quite the mess.” He smirked and released the Irishman’s chin. Jack’s head dropped weakly.

_My head? I’m injured?_ Jack lifted his head slowly, the task making his eyes flutter and his head and neck throb. _What… happened?_ He tried to look up at Felix, but found he had moved away. Jack turned his gaze to his right, and then the left. Peeking out at him from the darkness at the edge of the dim room was a white mask he recognized. 

Jack swallowed slowly, finding that his throat felt swollen and raw. He inhaled softly and licked his lips.

“C-Cry…”

Cry shifted and took a few steps towards him. “Hey Jack.” His voice was quiet and calm, almost soothing. It had been him waking him up a few moments ago.

Jack licked his lips again and swallowed. “W-Where am I? What happened?”

Cry took a few more steps and then crouched in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees as his hands dangled. “You’re at the sister location. Do you remember where that is?”

Jack paused for a moment before nodding slowly. “Yeah. I-I remember a little bit.”

Cry nodded and rested a hand on Jack’s knee. It was then that Jack took into consideration his position.

He was seated in a chair, his legs bound at the ankles. There was a coil of ropes wrapped around his torso that secured him to the chair. A dull and painful throb came from his right arm. For the first time since he woke up, he felt somewhat alive as fear and disbelief coursed through him.

Jack’s eyes widened as he struggled slightly against the ropes. They were tight, and they hurt.

“W-What’s going on?! This wasn’t part of the plan!”

Cry just stared at him for a moment before he sighed and stood up. “A lot of things weren’t part of the plan Sean. Like you taking Fischbach. Like you being in the passenger side of the car. Like you going to Daithi.”

Jack’s eyes widened even further.

All the events that had led to him being in this particular condition came zooming back.

He’d been slightly buzzed, he’d told Mark to take him to the station, and then they’d been hit. There had been the sickening pain that had flooded over him as his arm was crushed by the car door as the other car slammed into them. He could remember his own screams drowning out the sounds of shattering glass and screeching metal. And then he remembered the impact causing his head to slam into the window, and then the dash. Darkness consumed him after that.

As he poured over these memories, Felix came from behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder. 

“We’re sorry Jack. It had to be done.”

Jack blinked and glanced up at him, then at Cry. “But, what about you guys? That whole massacre thing? And trying to kill me? What was that?”

Felix glanced at Cry, who gave a curt nod. Felix sighed and came around in front of Jack to stand by Cry.

“That was part of the plan. Not ours, but X’s. He said that you’d gotten tired or something. He told us that you were going to rat us all out.”

Jack tensed as he stared at them. He thought back to the moment where he’d spilled what he knew to Mark in his kitchen. Mark knew what was happening. He had spilled the beans. But only after Felix and Cry tried to kill him.

Jack shook his head, his mind reeling. “What about the boys in the game room?”

Cry gave a proud scoff and reached into his pocket. “They’re all fine. Pissed, but unharmed.” He fumbled around in his jeans before pulling out a closed fist. He opened it and presented the contents to Jack. The Irishman’s brows shot up.

In his hand was a small metal dart filled with red liquid. It was short and fat, the thin nose of the needle a solid black.

“B-Blood darts?”

Cry nodded and held the thing up in the dim light, studying it. “Great lil’ fuckers. Knocks the person out cold instantly and creates a bloodstain, giving the appearance of death by gunshot.” 

Jack stared up at the two of them as Cry pocketed the thing, his mouth slightly agape. “So, t-this was all a ploy to get me to prove my intentions?”

Cry and Felix nodded reluctantly. Jack lowered his gaze to the floor, his eyes wide and burning. Were those tears? He didn’t care.

Felix shuffled. “We had full intentions of telling you, and we wanted to bring you back, as soon as you proved yourself loyal, to apologize, but then X, he,” Felix looked away, hurt on his face. “He told us that you told Fischbach. That you told him everything. We didn’t want to believe it, but,” he took a deep breath. Cry rested a hand on his shoulder and continued for him. “X said that you were going to turn yourself in. That if we didn’t hurry, you’d be in a cell within 12 hours and we would be the targets of a huge search. So we sent out Jim and Tom to stop you.”

Jack blinked. “By hitting us with a car?”

Cry rubbed the back of his neck. “The detective was supposed to be the one in the passenger seat. Jim barely got the car slowed down enough in order to avoid making the crash fatal.”

Jack lifted his head and glared at him. “You wanted to kill Mark?”

“Well yeah, you told him everything. We had to.”

The way he said it made Jack’s stomach drop. _Did he get away? Is he alright?_ Jack opened his mouth to ask them just that, but then Felix’s phone rang in his pocket. The familiar lyrics about a brofist that had played throughout the game room for several weeks filled the silent room as Felix fished it out of his jeans. 

He swiped the screen and pressed it to his ear.

“Yeah?”

There were a few moments of silence. The Felix’s gaze dropped to the floor, and then it lifted to Jack. It was filled with regret. 

“I understand. We’ll be there soon.”

He hung up and slid the phone into his pocket. Felix then glanced at Cry, who lowered his head and turned away. The Swede then looked back at Jack.

“Look, whatever happens, just know that we didn’t want anything to do with it. There’s no words for how sorry we are,” he said as he glanced back at Cry. Jack looked frantically between them, his eyes pleading. Fear and unease started to grow in his gut.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Cry glanced over his shoulder and nodded slightly. “Was nice knowin’ ya Sean,” he murmured, his voice low and strained. Jack’s eyes widened and he looked up at Felix. The Swede avoided his gaze and turned around, walking away. “I’m so sorry, Jack,” he whispered, his voice choked.

Jack watched them as the duo began to walk away. “H-Hey! Wait! Where are you going?! Guys, please!” He struggled against his ropes, but winced as his broken arm shifted. “Cry! Felix! Guys, please! _Please don’t leave me here!”_

But his pleas fell on deaf ears. Felix and Cry let themselves out of the room, cutting themselves off from their once best friend. 

 

Felix would break down later while he was by himself. Cry would end up drinking himself into a frenzy that night, only to end up going to Felix’s place. They would both get even more wasted. Nothing would happen, but it would still be weird for them both to wake up half-dressed sprawled on Felix's couch.

 

Jack stared after his friends, hot tears streaming down his face involuntary. _They abandoned me. They left me here to die._ He gritted his teeth and lowered his head, squeezing his eyes shut. _I’m all alone here. I’m going to die here. That’s what happens here at the sister location._ Jack opened his eyes and rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling where a dull yellow bulb hung suspended in the darkness above. _Mark’s probably dead. And now I’m going to die too._ He shut his eyes again and felt the urge to scream. He just wanted to scream away the pain, the reality he was in, he just wanted it all to disappear. 

Deciding to let his fucks fly out the window, he inhaled sharply and then pushed all of the air out of his lungs in a desperate, angry cry. His voice rose and fell, he could feel his face turning red, and his head began to pound.

But it felt good. He did it again and again, letting his voice fill the room. 

After about fifteen minutes of mindless shouting, he was out of breath and lightheaded. Dropping his head to his chest, he tried to regain control of his breathing. 

He shut his eyes as fresh tears started anew.

_Goddamn it. If Mark’s dead, then what’s the point? I can’t go to the police, if I ever get out of here. Might as well just die._

Jack opened his eyes and stared at the floor, his blue eyes swimming. This was going to be a rough couple days.


	11. Chapter 11

The cab Mark had called took about fifteen minutes to arrive at his apartment. While he was waiting, he took out the trash and picked up a bit. He was unsure of how long this was going to take him, and he didn’t want to come back to a dirty home.

_If you ever come home._

Mark nearly slapped himself. _Don’t think like that! I’ll be able to get in and out with what I find, get Jack, maybe arrest a few people, and then all will be fine!_

But those overly positive thoughts quickly diminished as his thoughts circled around the green-haired thief. _He was pretty banged up after the accident. I think he might have hit his head on the dash or something. And his right arm. It was definitely broken._ The detective shuddered as the image of Jack’s bloody and broken body came to the forefront of his mind.

Mark shook his head, trying to rid himself of such negative images. He sighed and went to his room, where he found his gun and badge resting on his dresser.

The detective slipped the gun into the waistband of his jeans. Reaching for the badge, he hesitated. _Would I really need it?_ Deciding to be safe, he picked up the badge and tucked it into a breast pocket on his flannel.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, telling him the cab had arrived. Mark walked out of his room, past his living room and kitchen, and hesitated at the door. Looking over at the coat rack, he spotted a black baseball cap. _I might be recognized in public from the missing persons’ announcement. Better safe than sorry._ He snatched the cap and slapped it on his head, pulling it down low and tightening it.

With that he opened the door, stepped into the hall, locked the door, and went down to meet his cab. He didn’t look back once.

\----

 

Jack stared at the floor for what seemed like an eternity. His mind was completely void of any thoughts, and his face was an emotionless stone. There was nothing that he could do, and he knew it. He was just a useless, helpless, little man who was beaten and bloody. At least that’s what he thought was caked all over his face. He had tried to rub some of the dried blood off on his shoulder earlier, and the stuff pulled at his facial hair. It was annoying.

He finally surfaced from his trance a little and let out a small breath. He had to face reality. There was an extremely high chance that he was never going to see the outside world again. Whoever would oversee his punishment would have the okay to do whatever they pleased in order for him to feel what he had done was wrong. No matter how long it took to kill him. Then there was the possibility that he could end up someone’s personal slave. Even though he didn’t want to think about the harsh reality behind it, it held quite a bit of truth.

Jack lifted his head and peered into the darkness around him. The lighting was terrible in here, and he had trouble seeing a few feet in front of him. There was no sense of depth either, so he had no clue how big the room really was.

And then somewhere in the darkness, he heard the sound of rusty hinges. It sounded like it was far away, yet it was so loud. Jack winced and tried to locate the source. It came from behind him. He tried to crane his neck in order to see, but pain zinged through his skull and down his back.

“Ack!” He cringed and dropped his head, waiting for the wave to pass. As he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, he failed to notice the footsteps slowly drawing closer to him.

“Hello, _Sean,”_ a deep, baritone voice whispered in his ear.

Jack flinched and cursed, his eyes snapping open and going wide.

A large hand was suddenly resting on the side of his neck and he flinched, going completely still. The voice came again, and it was low, raspy, and had a sadistic tone.

“The boss tells me you’ve done bad by us. That you ratted us out. That wasn’t very smart.”

The man began to walk around him, dragging his hand against Jack’s neck. Jack shuddered and tried to pull away, but it was useless. The hand slipped off his neck and onto the back of the chair. As the man walked around him, the mass of his frame became visible on his left. Jack glanced at it and went cold.

This guy was massive. The girth of his muscled waist was nearly twice as thick as Jack’s, and from what he could see, his arms were like muscled logs. Jack swallowed the lump in his throat and fidgeted as the man came around to stand in front of him. 

The guy’s hand fell from the back of the chair and he brought it up and crossed his arms. From what Jack could tell, he was wearing a black T-shirt and tan cargo pants. His face was serious with a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. In the dim light it was hard to see his eye color, but Jack guessed it was brown. His hair, or what was left of it, was styled in a buzz cut.

As he loomed in front of him, Jack fully grasped how big this guy was. He must have been at least the size of G, probably bigger. Scratch that, definitely bigger. The guy sighed and crouched down on front of him, peering into his face. Jack lowered his gaze to his own knees and tried to keep his breath steady. He wasn’t going to lie; this guy intimidated the fuck outta him.

The man crouching before him let out a throaty mumble, like he was pondering something.

“Eesh, you’re kind of frail, son. Not much to ya.”

Jack only blinked and turned his head to the side a bit.

The man clicked his tongue and rose to his feet. Jack followed him with his gaze out of the corner of his eye. “Got a lot of blood on ya already. Guess they didn’t treat ya ‘er nothin’.”

He crossed his arms behind his back and started to circle the tied-up Irishman. “Looks like you’ve got a broken arm too. Shame, you’re going to need it.”

Those words planted a freezing seed in Jack’s gut. _Does he mean slave work?_ One of the nicer outcomes was that he'd become a butler or cleaner or something. Worst case scenario, he'd end up someone’s sex toy. Not a pretty picture on this side of the spectrum.

The man let out a frustrated sigh and shook his head. “Does he really expect me to do much with you? You’d be dead before we even got to the good part!”

Jack trembled slightly. This was looking like it was heading in the very, _very_ , wrong direction.

Turning on his heel, the man faced Jack’s right side and stopped. He peered into Jack’s face and smirked a little. “The name’s Daryl, by the way. But you Sean, you may call me Sir.”

Jack stiffened and refused to make eye contact with him.

Daryl growled and snatched Jack’s chin with his forefinger and thumb. He jerked his head towards him and up, forcing the Irishman to look at him.

“Look at me when I speak to you. What are you to call me?”

Jack didn’t answer as fear gripped him. _This is bad, this is really bad!_

Daryl growled again and tightened his grip, making Jack wince. “What are you to call me, Sean?”

Jack gritted his teeth as his head and neck throbbed with the straining angle. He finally managed to force the word out through his parched lips. “S-Sir.”

“Very good.” Daryl released Jack’s chin and the Irishman’s head dropped, his eyes closing.

Daryl wiped his hands on his pants in a habitual manner and glanced at his wrist where a black watch sat. “Looks like my time with you is done for today. Just wanted to get formalities out of the way. I’ll send someone over to get ya all cleaned up and whatnot. I want you to be in a decent condition when we begin our first session. Until then though, be sure to get out any last prayers.” He chuckled as he walked away, his footsteps fading. Then there was the ear-splitting shriek of the hinges, a slam, and then silence.

Jack stayed still in his prison of a chair, his eyes squeezed shut and his body trembling. Thoughts and scenarios were flying around in his head, and he could barely keep it together.

_The way he said those things… The way he acted…It all points to…_ He shook his head and clenched his good fist. The other was a lifeless noodle cradled in his lap and pinned to his chest.

_No, I can’t think like that. I have to stay positive! Perhaps if I cooperate just a little, then maybe I can get out of this mess._

_Yeah right,_ another voice chipped in. _Your only chance at getting out of here is that detective, and for all you know he’s dead._

Jack opened his eyes and stared at the floor. The made-up images he had imagined of Mark, bloody and dead on the cold pavement, passed in front of him like a sick slideshow of truth.

_My god, it’s true._ He thought about how he’d been able to escape with Mark. How the detective had been his key to leaving behind the life he was forced to live. And now that key was gone, most likely in the morgue or still lying in the street.

Jack choked as a lump formed in his throat. Was he truly helpless? Was there no hope for him anymore? He shook his head, trying to fight back the pitiful tears that burned his eyes.

Was he truly doomed to spend the rest of his (assumingly short) life as a servant to some Goliath of a man? Or was he destined for a pleasant death by slow torture?

Jack let out a breath and opened his eyes, his gaze boring into the floor.

“I guess I’ll find out soon enough…”


	12. Chapter 12

Jack ended up falling asleep, surprisingly. He had nodded off in the dark quiet, and his sleep was dreamless, thank god.

What woke him up was a gentle hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. Jack had twitched and inhaled sharply, peeling his eyes open and looking around, before he realized what was going on.

As his vision focused in the dark, he could make out the face of a young man with black hair and dark eyes staring at him. Jack blinked and groaned, his head throbbing.

Without saying a word, the man straightened to his full height and walked behind him. Jack heard some rustling, and then the ropes that were restraining him loosened considerably. He blinked and raised his good arm hesitantly. The ropes moved freely with it and fell to the floor. Jack lifted his head fully and stared at the man as he came around in front of him.

“W-What are you doing?”

The man glanced at him before he kneeled in front of the Irishman and removed the rest of the ropes that were wrapped around his torso. He then studied Jack’s arm. He hesitantly reached for it.

Jack flinched. The man glanced up at him before gingerly poking at Jack’s wrist. He didn’t move. The man started poking and prodding until he reached halfway up his forearm. Jack winced and bit his lip as biting pain shot through his arm and shoulder. Furrowing his brow, the man sat back on his heels and ran a hand through his black hair.

“It’s pretty banged up. You need a hospital.”

Jack blinked and shifted in his chair. “W-Who are you?” He completely ignored the man’s previous statement and looked him in the eye, searching his face.

The man glanced up at him and sighed, a small smirk flashing across his face. “Name’s Nate. I’m the head of the medical team here. Daryl sent me to look you over.”

Jack nodded thoughtfully. “So, do you know Daryl well?”

“Not really. He’s pretty serious and keeps to himself a lot. Although I’ve heard some nasty stuff about his… methods.” Nate gave him a partially sympathetic look before rising to his feet and looking at the side of Jack’s head.

“Holy crap that’s a nasty gash. Jesus, give me sec.” He disappeared behind Jack and rummaged with something. Jack turned to look but he was already back at his side. He was holding a white First Aid kit.

He opened it and pulled out some various supplies. Jack watched as he grabbed a bottle and dumped the contents onto a cloth. “This is going to sting a little, but I need to disinfect it.”

Jack barely had time to nod before Nate was brushing his green hair away from the wound and pressing the cloth against his skull.

The word “sting” was an understatement. It burned. Jack gritted his teeth and tried to pull away, but Nate kept a gentle yet firm grip on his head, keeping him still. Soon the burn faded, and Jack relaxed. Nate released his grip and wiped gently at the gash.

“It’ll need stitches, but I was instructed to not do that. Daryl’s orders.”

Jack gave him a slightly bewildered look. “What? Does he expect me to sit here and let it get infected?”

Nate glanced at him and shrugged. “You’ll have worse wounds once he’s done with you. We’ll be able to fully treat you when he says so.”

A shiver ran down Jack’s spine. He’d heard rumors about this place, that X was ruthless, constantly pulling the strings of his puppets that were the tormentors. Daryl was probably one of them.

Yet what he had heard whispered in hallways by frightened men as he passed back at the base is what scared him the most. X told his puppets what to do, yet he gave them plenty of freedom. Daryl had probably been told to keep him alive, yet he could do as he pleased. Jack swallowed, trying to wet his throat as it had gone dry. A trickle of sweat traveled down his back.

“S-So, what about my arm?”

Nate clicked his tongue and shrugged. “I’ll probably just set it as best as I can and wrap it good and tight and give you a sling. Other than that, there’s not much else I can do. It’s most likely a comminuted fracture. You’ll need surgery later, if you get the privilege.”

Jack nodded weakly. “A-Alright.”

It was a lot to take in. He would be Daryl’s property, one way or another. What he decided to do with him was his choice. Apparently Daryl owned him now. It made Jack’s stomach turn.

 

As Jack was losing himself in his troubled thoughts, Nate rummaged around in his kit. Jack didn’t notice when Nate started to poke at his arm again. He did notice though, when Nate grabbed it.

Jack couldn’t help the cry of agony that tore through him as Nate tried to move his arm a bit. With his good arm, he flailed and tried to jerk away. His legs moved automatically as he tried to escape. Yet they were still tied to the legs of the chair.

When Jack went to stand, the chair moved with him and slammed into the back of his knees. His ankles were secured to the legs, and they tangled up in themselves. Nate released Jack’s arm as Jack crashed to the floor, attempting to catch himself on his good arm.

He did catch himself, but the chair caused him to land awkwardly.

“Gah! Jeasus, little help here?!”

Nate growled and stalked over to him. He gripped Jack’s good arm and hoisted him up while righting the chair. Once both were upright, Nate dropped Jack into the chair with a huff. “Stay still, damnit! I can’t help you if you try to run away. Do you understand?”

Jack looked up at him, his face flushed and breaths heaving. Nate’s voice was stern, yet gentle. There was something about it. It… reminded him of someone. Yet he couldn’t place it.

He nodded. “O-Okay.”

Nate nodded and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll give you something to bite on. But I need to do this, alright?”

He went to his kit and pulled out a ball of cloth. He folded it several times and held it in front of Jack’s face. “Here.”

Jack hesitantly took the cloth in his mouth and bit down. Nate gave him a nod of approval and went back to his arm. “Alright, you ready?”

Jack gave him a frantic glance and then nodded.

Nate let out a breath and gingerly grabbed Jack’s arm. He winced and Nate saw his jaw move as he tightened his bite. Then Nate went about trying his best to reset the bone.

Jack screamed against the cloth, but he kept a grip on it. Tears trickled out of the corners of his eyes, which he squeezed shut.

 

And then it was over. Nate gingerly set the arm back on Jack’s lap and went for his supplies. He quickly wrapped the arm with several layers of cloth and bandages before finishing it off with gauze. “Hopefully that pads it a little. But it should be fine like this. Just don’t move it.”

Jack nodded shakily and watched as Nate made a sling out of some more cloth. Once Nate had the thing situated on the Irishman, he sighed and stood up, stretching his back. “I’ll give ya some antibiotics to help fight infections. That’s the last thing we need.”

He went back to the kit and pulled out a bottle. He popped it open and dumped several pills into his palm. “Here.”

Jack eyed the white pills cautiously as he removed the cloth from his mouth. He recognized the morphine, but the others he wasn’t familiar with. Hesitantly he took the three that Nate offered him and popped them in his mouth. He struggled to swallow them dry, but he managed.

Once he had the pills down, he coughed a little and looked up at Nate. “So now what?”

Nate organized his kit before closing it. “Well, I’ve done all I can do. Daryl said I could do what I thought was necessary, and that’s it. So I guess I’m done here.” He looked around awkwardly before sighing. “It’s Sean, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well Sean, I wish you the best of luck. Daryl’s one of the top dogs around here, and he’s known for being a bit cruel. Well, crueler than most. I’ll probably be seeing you a lot.” He gave him a sad smile and started walking away. Jack stared after him.

“W-Wait!”

Nate paused and looked back at him.

“What do you know about X?”

A startled look flashed across Nate’s face. “X?”

Jack nodded. “What do you know about him?”

Nate shrugged. “Well, I know that he’s pretty harsh. Yet he’s pretty laid back. Oh and he has his own private island.”

Jack nodded. “So I guess you know just about as much as I do, huh?”

“Pretty much. Daryl hasn’t even seen him. Not sure if anyone has.”

With that Nate left, leaving behind a stumped and slightly dizzy Irishman. The door shut, the familiar screech of the hinges echoing throughout the room.

Jack sat there, his head and arm throbbing. Again the image of Daryl came to mind. He couldn’t shake the fact that this guy scared him, rightfully so, and that whatever he had planned for the Irishman wasn’t going to be pretty. Jack looked down at his rope-bound ankles and reached for them with his good hand. They were tied with a simple knot, and he was able to get them off pretty easy. It occurred to him that Nate had never mentioned why he left him untied, but Jack was thanking his lucky stars for it.

Once his legs were free he attempted to stand. At first he was wobbly and unstable, but he quickly overcame his vertigo and took a few cautious steps.

His legs were only a little sore from not moving and they felt a little achy, but nothing serious. With that he stumbled around in the dim room, trying to scope out his surroundings.

The room was completely bare except for him and his chair. It was pretty big too, stretching at least 25 feet from wall to wall. The ceiling was low though, giving him the impression that he may be underground. And then he found the door.

It was a huge metal thing, rusted and old. There were several broken bolt locks on his side of the door, and he could only imagine the size of the locks on the other side. He wasn’t getting out this way. 

With nothing else to really do, he turned around and faced the empty room. It was so quiet. Jack sighed and pressed his back to the door and slid down to the cool concrete floor. He sat there for a while, taking it all in. It was starting to look like he would really be here forever. There was no other way out, unless he was quick enough to fool the next person who came in. But in his condition, it would be hard. Jack let out a breath. _This is turning out to be the worst time in my life, huh? First I think of betraying my friends, then my friends betray me, I kidnap a guy, my friends try to kill me, and now I’m going to be some brute’s sexual chew toy. Great..._ Jack closed his eyes. _Maybe I’ll just die before it can get any worse._

And in the darkness of his prison, death was a serious option he considered.

\---

After a bit of help from the cab driver and a few Google searches, Mark was able to locate an abandoned building that fit his theory. It was a three-story hospital, abandoned and shut down due to health code violations. The city didn’t have enough money to destroy it, so they left it there to rot.

It was built during WWI, meaning it had a bomb shelter or two. As the cab pulled into the weed-infested parking lot, Mark scanned the area. The building was made of red brick, and most of the windows were boarded up and broken. Graffiti covered the walls and trash littered the area. It looked pretty unused.

Mark paid the driver and stepped out. He instructed him to wait on the main road for him, slipping him another twenty. The driver agreed hastily and drove off.

The detective turned towards the building. As he stood in its shadow, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease crawl over him. _Come on, Fischbach, get a grip._ Mark steeled himself and pulled out his gun, checking the cartridge and cocking it. He took a deep breath. He was ready.

With that, he made his way towards the building. There was a side door, and it was slightly ajar. Taking the opportunity, Mark ducked down beside it and peered inside.

It was dark, and completely silent. He saw no movement whatsoever, so he gently nudged the door open further.

Nothing happened, and no alarm was raised. Mark took a breath before quickly entering the building. He shut the door gingerly behind him and waited. The only sounds he heard were his own breathing and the creaking of old boards underneath him. This was it. He would find the pain-in-the-ass Irishman and haul him out of here, and hopefully arrest a thug or two. Phase one complete. He was in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, that's NateWantsToBattle! :3


	13. Chapter 13

Mark tiptoed towards the door on the opposite side of the room and paused, holding his breath. There was no sign of any living creature on the other side. The detective carefully turned the knob and opened the door. Nothing happened. He stepped out into the hallway with a small breath of relief and adjusted his baseball cap. _So far so good._ He looked both ways down the hall. It was torn to shit, with chunks of the stone missing, and trash littered the floor. There was a strong scent of mildew and mold int the air. And on the floor, partially hidden by all the garbage, were numerous muddy boot prints consistently leading to the right.

Mark squatted down and ran a finger over one the prints. It was still partly fresh. The detective rubbed the dirt between his fingers thoughtfully then stood up. He readied his gun and began to stalk down the hall to the right. Keeping his back close to the wall on his left, he slunk further and further down the hall.

The hallway was pretty basic, as far as hallways go. There were several doors that were either shut tight or wide open. A small bit of light flooded in from a few of the rooms, but eventually he lost that little bit of light.

Soon the light from the room from which he’d entered faded behind him, leaving him in darkness. Mark swallowed and steadied his breathing. He’d have to pay close attention to sounds.

After about another minute of silent creeping, he saw a dull light just up ahead. Mark slowed his pace and took a few more steps.

Apparently he had reached the end of this hall. There was a sharp turn to the left, and a dull, yellow light was coming from that space. Mark took a deep breath through his nose and crept to the edge of the wall. He pressed himself against the wall and peered around the corner. What he saw startled him.

It was Cry. The masked man was sitting at a table, his face illuminated by a single candle flickering in the dark in front of him. A large bottle of whiskey was gripped in his hand, while the other appendage was tangled in his brown hair.

The detective blinked and studied the scene before him. The hunch in Cry’s shoulders told him what he needed to know. The man was upset. Maybe even sad.

Mark steeled himself and took a step out. A loud bang made him freeze, and he pulled his leg back into the shadows. He let out a breath and looked around the corner again.

Felix was there now, standing next to Cry, a hand draped on his shoulder. Mark couldn’t help but wrinkle his brow. Was the Swede crying? It looked like his blue eyes were swimming with tears.

“Cry?”

The way Felix’s voice cracked was enough to let Mark know that he was indeed crying.

Cry looked up at him. “What?”

The man’s voice was thick and slightly slurred.

Felix shook his head. “Do… do you think he’ll forgive us?”

Cry scoffed and moved his mask up a little, bringing the whiskey bottle to his lips. He took a large swallow from the bottle and cleared his throat. “No. He’ll probably haunt us after he dies. Serves us right too.”

Mark blinked and tried to decipher who they were talking about. No one came to mind.

Felix nodded slowly and turned away. “X gave us new intel.”

Cry growled and leaned back in his chair. “What about?”

“Fischbach. Says he’s on bedrest for a while and off the job. He suggested that we go assassinate him, but-”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I could do it. It has to be you, Cry.”

Cry didn’t say anything for a moment, then he nodded. “Alright. I’ll organize something.”

“Thanks man.”

Cry went to say something when there was suddenly a very loud and very startling screech. It took Mark a moment to recognize what it was. An alarm. It continued to cry out, and Mark winced at how loud it was.

Cry and Felix both snapped to attention, Cry lurching to his feet and pushing his chair to the floor. Then there was the scratch of an intercom before a panicked voice filled the air.

_“We have an intruder in hall 8! Cry, Felix, by you guys! He’s got a gun!”_

Mark cursed, turned tail, and ran. _Shitshitshitshitshit! How could I have forgotten to check for cameras?!_ He could hear Felix and Cry shouting after him. The detective bit his lip and winced, his wounded leg achy and sore, causing him to falter in his stride. He could hear someone catching up to him. Mark gritted his teeth and pushed himself to go faster.

 

He didn’t even reach the room he came in at before someone tackled him, their arms wrapping around his knees and completely immobilizing him.

The detective cried out as he crashed into the linoleum floor. His hat fell from his head, yet he managed to keep a grip on his gun. Mark managed to catch himself with his right hand, slightly spraining his wrist. He winced and then focused on the person clinging to his legs.

It was Cry. His white mask glared at him from the mild darkness. He snarled and lunged for Mark’s face.

“Fischbach!”

Mark managed to hold Cry back as he tried to scramble away from him. Cry’s fist managed to clip his jaw, not hard enough for him to see stars, but just enough to startle him. Mark swung his own fist which connected with the side of Cry’s head. Cry bellowed in pain as he gripped his head. Mark kicked himself free of the thug and stumbled to his feet, taking off at a run down the hall.

 

Felix hurried to his friend’s side and kneeled next to him. “Cry! What happened?!”

Cry growled and lifted his head, blood running down the side of his face. “It’s Fischbach.”

“Whaaat?!” Felix whipped his head in the direction the detective had fled. Cry gritted his teeth and rose to his feet.

“That son of a bitch,” he ground out. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Felix stood up next to him. “Should we cut him off?”

“Yeah. You herd him, I’ll tag ‘im.”

Felix nodded and took off at a dead run after Mark. Cry hissed as he wiped he blood from his face with a sleeve. He then turned around ran down the hall, back the way he came.

 

Mark flew through the transitioning darkness. His leg was burning now, but he knew that it wouldn’t reopen. It’d healed too much for that. It just hurt like a bitch.

He slid around a corner and tucked his gun into his jeans. He needed to focus on escaping right now.

The detective booked it down the hall, his arms pumping at his sides. He could hear men shouting, and there was a pair of footsteps behind him. It was probably Cry. The alarm continued to blare all around him, partially drowning out all other noise when it screeched.

As Mark reached a partially lit area, he glanced over his shoulder. When he saw Felix racing after him, he felt his stomach tighten. _Where’s Cry?_ He turned his gaze back to his path and looked around. _Is he going to cut me off? Where’s he going to come from? Is he even after me?_

The fact that the absence of the creep unnerved him more than his presence unnerved the detective even more.

As he ran, he suddenly came to a dead end. A solid wall loomed in front of him, with the hall dissecting to the left and right. Mark looked to the right, then the left, and then turned to the left.

But he was too slow.

He heard someone pounding after him, and he panicked at how close it was. The detective whirled around just in time to have Cry slam a shoulder into his chest.

Mark grunted and staggered backwards, his back colliding with the wall.

“Ack!”

His whip wounds complained at the sudden and painful friction, and Mark quickly tried to pry himself away from the cold stone. Yet Cry smashed a fist into his face and his head snapped to the side. Mark stumbled and caught himself on the wall, his fingers digging into the stone. He felt his bottom lip throbbing, and he gingerly touched it. When his fingertips came back bloody, he ran his tongue over his lip, his saliva stinging the cut, while he lifted his head and glared at Cry.

Cry was crouched in a defensive manner before him, his fists clenched. Felix then rounded the corner, panting and out of breath.

Mark glanced between the two of them, weighing his options. _I could try to keep running, but they’ll just head me off. No good. Maybe I can pull my gun and get a few shots off? But what if I kill them? I can’t have that. I guess I’ll have to try and beat them both to a pulp._

The detective pushed himself from the wall and rolled his shoulders. Cry stared at him and snorted.

“You think you’re some hot shit, don’t ya Detective? But as I recall, you weren’t so high and mighty when me and my boys got a hold of ya.”

Mark smirked and cracked his neck. “But you didn’t get any answers out of me. Guess you still lost.”

Cry growled. “I won’t make the same mistake twice. I should have killed you when I had the chance. Letting you live was a mistake.” He glanced at Felix. Felix caught on to where this was going and he nodded, pulling a switchblade out of his pocket.

“He’s right. Letting you live was a terrible idea. It’s what got Jack killed.” Felix said hotly.

 

Mark tensed. _Killed? Are they...?_ Mark glanced between the two of them, a sudden cold creeping up his body.

“Jack’s dead?”

Cry nodded, taking a few steps to the side. “Yeah. We had to oversee his transportation after you two fucked up. After the car accident, you were supposed to die. At the time Jack wasn’t. We were supposed to bring him back alive and unharmed. But you,” Cry took a few more steps towards Mark’s left side while Felix advanced on his right. “You were driving. That wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to die in a car crash, Fischbach. Not Jack.”

Marked dropped his gaze to the trash-littered floor, shock sinking into his stomach. _He’s… really dead?_

Felix clicked his tongue, masking the sound of his switchblade snapping open. “He had some pretty serious wounds. Almost didn’t make it to his final resting place. But when we got there, he managed to pull through just a little longer. We got a bit of info from him, told him some things, then left. We got a call later saying that they put him down, like a dog. Put him out of his misery, they did. Like a damn, useless mutt that lost a leg.”

Mark’s eyes widened and he turned his gaze to Felix. The Swede looked serious and uncaring, yet the detective could see the pain in his eyes. Jack had been his friend. If Felix was truly hurt by this then that meant…

The detective let out a shaky breath and staggered backwards, hitting the wall and leaning on it for support. It couldn’t be true, it couldn’t! Jack wasn’t supposed to die! Not yet! Mark clutched the front of his shirt. Why was he so torn about this? Sure Jack had earned a special place in Mark’s heart for all that he did for him but, what was this feeling? Hopelessness?

 

As Mark tried to come to terms with himself, Cry took the opportunity and lunged at him. Seeing the sudden movement from the corner of his eye, the detective moved with trained reflexes out of the way. Cry missed by a long shot, but as Mark stumbled away from him, he teetered towards Felix.

Felix shouted angrily and lunged at Mark, his knife stretched out in front of him. Mark turned quickly at the sound of his cry and didn’t even have time to react as the Swede shot towards him.

 

Time seemed to slow down as he attempted to get out of range. Felix reached forward with his other hand and grabbed Mark’s shirt, pulling him towards him. Mark inhaled sharply as he realized what was about to happen.

 

And then suddenly there was a white-hot burning pain in the middle of his abdomen. He cried out as the pain rolled through him in waves. Felix snickered and pushed the knife deeper into Mark’s skin, blood swelling from beneath his clothing and dripping to the floor. Mark choked as Felix then jerked the knife free.

Immediately Mark pressed his hand to the wound and was horrified at how much blood oozed between his fingers and covered his hand. He stumbled backwards, trying to run. Cry tripped him, sending him sprawling to the floor.

“Gnnhg!” Mark grimaced as he collided with the hard surface. He wasted no time in rolling to his feet and attempting to run again, this time down the hall to the right. As he struggled along, he managed to pull out his gun with his free hand. Cry laughed from behind him.

“Looks like the wolf wants to run! But wait, he’s injured! How far can he go?!” Cry cackled and ran after him.

Mark was scared. This had not gone according to plan and now he was re-injured, staggering away from his impending death. He gritted his teeth and planted his left foot. Pivoting quickly, he swung around and lifted his gun. Cry saw this and immediately dropped to the floor. Mark fired off a few shots, not wanting to waste his ammo.

Cry had been smart and had ducked down. Felix on the other hand, wasn’t the brightest.

He tried to dive out of the way, but one of the bullets caught his shoulder. The Swede screamed in pain and gripped his shoulder as he crashed to the floor, his eyes shut tight. Cry jerked his head up and gaped at his Swedish friend.

“Felix!”

He raced over to him. Mark took this opportunity to get out of there. He pressed his hand to his wound and grimaced before setting off at a painful jog down the hall.

After about thirty seconds, Cry’s voice boomed over the intercom.

_“We need medical assistance in hall 7! The intruder is headed down east 8! Kill on sight!”_

Marked cursed and continued on, hoping to find an exit. Sweat was starting to drip from his brow and his legs were trembling. The front of his shirt was soaked in blood, and he was dizzy and nauseous. _Fuck this…_ He coughed, feeling blood drip from the corner of his mouth. _Am… Am I going to die here? Like this?_ The detective coughed again, more blood spluttering from his mouth and onto his chin and lips. _Shit…_

Mark couldn’t stop himself as he started to fall. His momentum careened him forward, and he managed to catch himself on his hands before his knees hit. Once they did, he rolled to the side, leaning against the coolness of a wall. He coughed again, this time much more violently. He damn near choked on all the blood.

The detective dropped his head back, letting it thump gently against the wall. His vision was fading. Great. He was aware that he couldn’t feel his feet any more. He let out a ragged breath.

“God… damnit… all…,” he stuttered. This ass-backward plan had backfired and had been for nothing. Jack was dead. Gone. He couldn’t be saved.

And now he was going to die. The detective could feel it. There was no coming back from this one. He let out a breath and rolled his head to the side. He swore he could hear footsteps, but perhaps it was his mind playing tricks on him. Mark grimaced as he readjusted his position, trying to get more comfortable. The footsteps grew louder, yet Mark didn’t care. He was practically dead already. Yet he managed to roll his eyes up towards the sound of the footsteps. He caught a glimpse of a very pale fellow with dark hair and dark eyes. 

The man smiled at him. Bright white and straight teeth gleamed at him.

“I assume you’re Mr. Fischbach?”

Mark only gazed up at him, his vision rimmed with darkness. He was fading fast. Was this man going to put him down, like they had done to Jack?

The man chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you. Just close your eyes and everything will be okay.”

The detective found that he wanted to close his eyes. It would be nice to sleep for a bit. His gaze drooped to the floor before he brought it back up to the man briefly before letting his eyes slip shut.

As his consciousness faded, he could have sworn he heard Jack’s voice calling to him from within the darkness.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains slightly sensitive material. Be warned.

Jack wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It felt like it had been hours, maybe even days. How long had it been since Nate had been to see him? How long until Daryl came back? Was it daytime, or was it night? He didn’t know.

Yet he did know that he hadn’t moved. The Irishman had stayed in his spot, leaning against the door, staring off into space. For a while, all he thought about was what was going to happen to him. How the rest of his life would be filled with torture and pain and eventually death. Then his foggy brain had switched gears, diving into his past.

 

He remembered his childhood, growing up in a small Ireland town. How he would run and play in the fields behind his house with his older siblings, chasing the numerous dogs they had and throwing sticks. Jack recalled his school days, and how he worked hard in college.

And then, for some stupid reason, he moved to America. Searching for adventure, he guessed. After he managed to save enough money to fly there and get settled in, he had started off bagging groceries at a super market. People constantly asked him about his accent and his home country, and for a while, he adored the attention.

And then he met Felix. The blonde Swede had recognized his swift and slim hands, how they moved as if on their own. Felix offered him a job, one with much higher pay and better hours. Gullible and in need of more cash, Jack had foolishly accepted.

The first job wasn’t suspicious at all. Felix told him one of his buddies needed help taking care of a car. He said that this friend had left all his valuables in his car, which was broken down and waiting to be towed. All Jack had to do was “unlock” the car, retrieve all the valuables, and bring them back to Felix. This way the car could be towed and Felix’s friend wouldn’t have to worry about his precious items. And to Jack, that was incredibly innocent and kind. Of course he’d help some guy out!

Jack thought back on how easy it had been for him to unlock the car door with the metal coat hanger. It was as if his hands knew what to do. After that he’d found the guy’s wallet, a set of keys, a watch, a phone, some strange jewelry, and an unopened bag of chips. Jack could clearly remember how proud Felix had been when he came back with a bag full of his loot.

“You did alright, kid,” he’d said. “You did alright.”

It wasn’t until a few weeks later that Jack and a few other people from Felix’s “company” went out on another job. Something about somebody wanting their house checked while they were on vacation. It was during this job he realized that he was being fooled, and he’d been furious. He’d tried to run away that night, but the other people stopped him and brought him back to Felix. Felix explained the truth to him, about this whole operation, and that he and Jack both were only pawns in a much larger game.

After that, Jack was supervised everywhere he went. No one wanted him to leave. He knew too much.

Then six months later, he found that he was enjoying himself. The pay was great, he got a car, he had plenty of people he could call friends, and sometimes the jobs themselves were fun. There’s a certain thrill you get when you pick a lock and sneak into some stranger’s house. It’s like an adrenaline-filled treasure hunt.

Soon enough he found he liked this new lifestyle, and started asking Felix for tougher jobs. After that, he climbed to the top of the group and was just a step below Cry (who he’d met not long after he’d joined) who was just a half step below Felix. 

That was almost four years ago.

 

Jack sighed and rolled his head to the side. _God that seems like forever ago. I haven’t spoken to my family in almost two years._ That thought instantly brought tears to his eyes. _Fuck…_ He closed his eyes. _They probably think I’m dead. The last time I spoke to them I told them I was working in a risky field. God, they would hate me if they ever found out what I meant._

 

Yet Jack didn’t get time to wallow in guilt and shame. The door he was sitting against clanked, and began to screech inward as it opened. Jack cursed and struggled to his feet, trying to get out of the way.

But it seemed fate was being cruel to him. He’d been sitting so long that his legs fell asleep, and the limbs all but gave out as he tried to stand. Jack stumbled as his knees buckled, and fell to the floor, twisting his body so that he didn’t land on his right arm. He winced as the rough texture of the abused concrete dug into his skin.

Jack pushed himself up on his left elbow, his legs stretched out behind him, practically useless. He grimaced and glanced over his shoulder at the door.

 

It swung wide open, a rectangle of light pouring into the dark room. A huge figure stood within the light, and Jack had to shield his eyes from the bright florescent glow for a moment.

“What’s this? Did Nate forget to tie you back up? Tch, what a scatter brain.”

Jack’s blood ran cold. _Daryl._

Daryl stepped into the room and shut the door. Jack couldn’t make out his face as his eyes struggled to readjust. The giant chuckled before coming to loom over Jack, peering down at him with a grin.

“Looks like Nate did as he was told otherwise. Nice sling ya got there.”

Jack didn’t say anything as he blinked away the spots in his vision and rolled onto his back, propping himself up on one elbow, and looked up at Daryl.

He still wore those tan pants, yet his T-shirt was grey now. The grin on his face was large, yet it didn’t reach his eyes. He chuckled and reached for Jack.

 

Jack flinched and scooted back a few inches. _God no, please don’t let him touch me._ Daryl smirked. “Now now Sean, don’t fight me. You won’t like what happens when you do.”

Jack tensed and stared up at him, his heart pounding in his chest. _What should I do, what should I do?!_

Daryl made another grab for his upper arm. Jack twisted out of range and rolled onto his stomach. He attempted to army-crawl back to the chair. _Oh please, please just let me make it!_

He heard Daryl’s booming footsteps behind him. Fear gripped his gut and he tried to crawl faster. 

Daryl growled. “Damnit Sean.” He easily caught up to the escaping man and reached down, fisting his hand in Jack’s green hair, his force briefly shoving Jack’s face into the floor before jerking him up to his feet, with Jack’s back to him. 

“Ggaaahh!” Jack’s good arm came up and gripped Daryl’s wrist as he struggled to get his feet underneath him, trying to reduce the pain. Blood dripped from his nose and onto his already blood-crusted shirt. He gritted his teeth and tried to free himself, twisting to the right, his injured arm just barely brushing against Daryl’s rock-hard abs. Yet the grip on his scalp only tightened. 

__“Gghh! L-Let me go!”_ _

Daryl chuckled a deep, hollow laugh. “My, you really are a stupid one, aren’tcha? I’m afraid I can’t do that. See, you disobeyed, Sean.” He jerked on Jack’s hair, making him stand straighter. Jack cried out and clawed at his wrist. Daryl smirked and cranked Jack’s head to the left, exposing his neck. He brought his lips close to the shell of Jack’s ear. His voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “So now you have to be punished.” 

Daryl smirked and shook Jack’s head slightly, as if trying to rattle something out of him. Jack grimaced as tears blurred his vision. _Shitshitshitshit, what do I do? God, it hurts-!_ He grunted and tried to pull himself away from the brute, but Daryl only growled and jerked Jack’s head back. 

Jack cried out as the pain made his knees buckle. Daryl was oh-so-kind enough and let him fall to the floor, yet he kept a hold on Jack’s scalp. The Irishman was now kneeling before him, his good hand gripping the giant’s wrist, his eyes squeezed shut. 

Daryl chuckled. “It hurts, doesn’t it Sean? See, this is what happens when you disobey. Good boys don’t disobey. Good boys don’t get hurt. Somethin’ you ought to keep in mind.” He cocked his head and bent down to be eye-level with the Irishman. “So, do you remember what I told you last time? Do you know what you’re supposed to call me?” 

Jack cracked open an eye to stare at him. His mind was overwhelmed with the pain, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to call this monster. Then the word slipped through the fog of pain. Jack gave a small nod, shutting his eyes again at the burning pain. 

Daryl clicked his tongue. “So say it.” 

Jack swallowed the lump in his throat and licked his lips, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth. “S-Sir.” 

“Very good! Now, what was the other thing you learned?” 

His eyes snapped open. _The other thing?_ Jack stared at the floor, his mind reeling. _What else was there? Oh god I can’t remember!_

To his right Daryl sighed. “C’mon Sean, it isn’t that hard!” He readjusted his grip on Jack’s hair and stood up, pulling the smaller man with him. Jack cried out and pulled on Daryl’s wrist, partly to lift himself up, and to try and make him let go. 

Daryl used his free hand to grab Jack’s waist and make him face him. He then pulled Jack against his chest. 

Jack inhaled sharply and brought his good hand down on Daryl’s chest, trying to push away from him. Daryl chuckled and yanked Jack’s head back, exposing his throat. Jack whimpered. He trembled as he felt Daryl’s hot breath brush against his skin. 

“You have such pretty skin,” Daryl murmured. Jack tensed and squirmed in the brute’s grip. Daryl smirked and pulled Jack’s head back up a bit, forcing the Irishman to look him in the eyes. 

“The second thing you learned Sean,” he said as he brought his face closer to Jack’s. Jack’s eyes widened and he tried to shove away from him. “Was that you must look me in the eye when I’m talking to you.” He finished his sentence as his lips were just a fraction of an inch away from Jack’s. The Irishman trembled and stared up at him with fear. 

Daryl held him there for a moment, taunting him with his closeness. And then he roughly pulled Jack’s lips to his. 

Jack wanted to scream. To vomit. He squeezed his eyes shut as Daryl’s lips moved against his, which he desperately tried to keep still and firm. Daryl’s tongue slipped across his bottom lip. Jack didn’t give in. The brute growled, the sound rumbling throughout his chest, and jerked on Jack’s hair, making him gasp in pain. Daryl chuckled and forced his tongue into Jack’s mouth, making Jack whimper in disgust. 

Jack cringed as Daryl’s tongue explored his mouth. He felt tears stinging his eyes behind his eyelids. _No, please no, this can’t be happening._ But it was. 

Daryl then pulled away from him, a string of saliva hanging between them. Jack gasped for air as he tried not to look at the man in front of him. Daryl smirked, a bit of blood on his lower lip, and let go of Jack’s hair. 

Not expecting to be released, Jack’s legs crumpled and he fell to the floor, wincing as his rump collided heavily with the concrete. Above him, Daryl wiped his hand across his mouth and chuckled. 

“I hope you remember this lesson. It’ll be the easiest one you experience.” With that he laughed and turned back towards the door, walking away and leaving Jack a trembling heap on the floor. 

Jack watched as Daryl opened the door, stepped through into a very bright hallway, and slammed the door. The very audible clicks of several locks reached his ears. And then he was left in silence once again. 

He couldn’t stop the swelling of fresh tears in his eyes. A choked sob racked his frame as he wiped his sleeve across his mouth, wiping away spit and blood. The nosebleed had stopped, thankfully. _I feel so disgusting._ Jack shut his eyes and shook his head, pulling his knees to his chest with his good arm. Tears streamed from beneath his closed lids, and he let out a shaky breath. _Come on Jack, get a grip. Get a grip._

Yet he couldn’t. The truth of his situation hit him like a relentless demon train, plowing him over and grinding him to dust. Another sob escaped him. Jack buried his head in his knees. _Please, someone get me out of here. Someone please save me…_ And then he broke, his sobs shaking him. His pitiful cries filled the room. 

_Someone… Anyone… Please…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter in November and I _still_ feel bad about it XD


	15. Chapter 15

A loud bang made Mark jolt out of complete unconsciousness. His body jerked and he groaned, keeping his eyes closed as his senses were brutally awakened. His head was pounding, and there was a dull ache throughout his entire body.

_If this is heaven I’m so over it._ He dared to crack open an eye and peek out at the world before him. Once he deemed it safe, he opened his eyes all the way.

He was in a hospital room. There was a bit of commotion just outside of his door, and then he heard several voices fading away. _They must have dropped something and that’s what woke me up._ Mark brushed off the thought and gave the room around him a confused look.

It was a pretty stereotypical room, small and painted with calm, neutral colors. Mark glanced down at himself and saw he was in a white hospital gown, with an IV in his left wrist along with a paper bracelet. The sound of the heart monitor beeping beside him seemed to clear his mind a bit further. The heavy blankets that covered his legs were warm and extremely comfortable. The detective felt somewhat relieved that he could feel such comfort.

_I should be dead._

Mark grimaced at the thought and laid his head back against the pillows, his gaze flicking up to the ceiling. _How did I get here?_

He recalled how he’d done fucked up with his solo mission that he thought he could pull off. How Cry and Felix caught him and Felix knifed him. And then how he managed to shoot the Swede.

He’d learned McLoughlin was dead as well. Killed off. Like a useless dog.

Mark let out a breath as he let those thoughts sink in. The bundle of green hair and kindness that Jack had been, that the detective had had the pleasure of knowing for a short while, was gone. Yeah he may have been a criminal, but Mark could see it in those blue eyes. He wasn’t cruel, or mean, or even a thief at heart. There was such innocence in those eyes. Sean hadn’t been one to deserve such a fate as the one he got.

The detective closed his eyes momentarily as Jack’s smiling face came to mind. _I’m going to miss him. Not sure why, but I can feel it. His smile, those eyes, his laughter, that accent._ Mark sighed. _Good lord I sound like some emotional soap opera housewife._

Suddenly the door to his room opened. Mark opened his eyes to see an older nurse carrying in a tray of food.

“Ah good, you’re awake. How’re you feeling?”

Mark watched as she set the tray down on the bedside table. “Well, I’ve been worse. What happened?”

The nurse smiled gently at him and checked his fluid drip that was for his IV. “You were mugged on the street. I guess being stabbed must have caused some shock and you don’t remember much. Some brave passerby saw the whole thing and fought your attacker off before any of your valuables could be stolen. And then he brought you here. Such a kind young man he was.”

Mark blinked as she changed out his drip. “O-Oh. I guess I did forget quite a bit.” The detective let her words roll around in his head for a moment. “Did the guy who brought me here leave any way for me to contact him? I’d really like to thank him.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. He said he wanted to remain anonymous. But he did leave you a note! I’ll go and get it. I’ll also let the doctor know that you’re awake. He should be in shortly.” With that she smiled and left, closing the door softly behind her.

Mark glanced at the food and then dropped his gaze to his legs. _A mugging huh? Seems like this guy was either payed off, or he’s in on the situation. My guess is that he’s in on it._ Mark rubbed the back of his neck, his brow furrowed. _But if that’s the case, why bring me to a hospital? Why not leave me to die or let Cry finish me off?_ The detective drew in a breath.

As he did, there was a soft knock on the door. Mark looked up as it swung open, revealing a middle-aged man with silver hair.

“Oh, good to see you awake! My name’s Dr. Stein. So, Mr. Fischbach, how are we feeling?”

Ah, the doctor.

“Fine, I guess. Little achy and sore.”

“Well that’s to be expected. You’ve been out for about 14 hours. Haven’t moved a muscle since we got done operating.”

Mark nodded. _He's quite the jolly fella, isn't he?_ “So, I don’t really remember much. What happened?”

The doc chuckled and picked up a clipboard hanging on the foot of Mark’s bed. “Well, some fella drug you in here, said you’d been mugged and stabbed. You were a mess, completely bloody and just about gone. We hurried you into the OR, fixed ya up, gave you a blood transfusion, and off you went to recover on your own.” He scribbled something down.

“And just for the record, you did pretty good. A little rocky there for the first few hours, but you’ve been stable ever since.” He gave the detective a pleased smirk as he wrote more stuff down on the chart. “We’ll probably keep ya here for another 24 hours, just to make sure you’re doing alright. Sound like a plan?”

Mark nodded and flashed him a smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

The doctor dipped his head. “No problem. Now,” he clapped his hands together. “Let’s have a look at your stitches. They should be perfectly fine. The wound wasn’t very big, but it hit at just the right angle, hence all the blood. Luckily it missed all your internal organs.” He came around to the side of Mark’s bed and beckoned him to sit up.

Mark tried his best to move his achy limbs and sat up, pushing back the blankets. The doctor then helped him slip his right arm out of his gown so that he could see the entirety of Mark’s right torso. As he studied Mark’s abdomen, Mark looked down to see the damage for himself.

There was a small row of about ten stitches in a vertical line just underneath his ribs. The wound looked clean and well-cared for, and there was only a slight throb when the doctor applied pressure around it.

“Looks good. Any other pain elsewhere? Head, back, neck? Anything like that?”

Mark shook his head. “Nope. Just achy all over.”

“Good deal. I noticed that your shoulder was bruised when you came in. I’m guessing you got hit pretty good?”

“Yeah, they were nasty guys.”

“More than one?”

“Uh yeah, there were two.”

“Hm. Good thing your savior came by when he did then.”

“Yeah.”

The doctor helped Mark slip his arm back in the gown and then checked his IV.

“Now, when I looked at your records, I saw that you were in here for some other wounds as well just the other day. Pretty serious from what I read. How are those holding up?”

Mark chuckled to himself as he thought about the lashes that adorned his back.

“Fine. They haven’t really been giving me much trouble.”

“That’s good to hear. I’ll prescribe you some more painkillers. That wound will be pretty painful for a while. No heavy lifting for about three days, and no strenuous activity. The stitches need to stay in your skin in order for them to work,” he joked.

_Three days?_ Mark watched the doctor write some more stuff on the clipboard before excusing himself, saying a nurse would be right in. The detective lied back against the pillows.

_Three days. One will be spent here. But what about the other two? What do I do now? With Jack dead, there’s really no point for me to try and go back there. I don’t have to save anyone now. I can let the guys handle this._

Mark sighed, feeling conflicted.

There was another rap on the door before the nurse popped her head in. “I brought the note. You also have a visitor.”

Mark tensed. _A visitor?_

The nurse opened the door all the way, letting herself in and revealing a large figure standing out in the hall. Mark’s eyes widened.

“Ken?”

The chief detective stepped into the room, a serious expression plastered on his face. “How’re you feelin’ Mark?”

Mark kept his surprised gaze on the burly man as the nurse left a notecard on the tray of food she’d brought in earlier and excused herself. He followed her with his almond eyes for a moment before focusing back on Ken.

“Uh f-fine, considering.”

Ken nodded thoughtfully and closed the door. He then helped himself to a chair that was sitting in the corner.

“So, what happened?” He motioned to the bed and Mark looked down at his side.

“Well, I went out for a walk after I couldn’t sleep when I got home. Some guys jumped me for my wallet, I guess. It’s really no big deal, just a mugging.”

Mark looked up and saw Ken tense considerably, and the chief let out a tight-breathed laugh. “No big deal, huh? You sound like a worn-down old cop.” Ken bit his lip and looked away, his eyes dark. Mark raised a brow at him. _What has got him so uptight?_

“Mark, I need to know the truth.”

Mark tensed and flicked his gaze towards the floor before sliding it back up to his chief. “About what?” _Shit what did he find?_

The bearded man searched Mark’s face for a moment before letting out a breath. “What really happened out there Mark? What happened to you?”

“I already told you all of what happened.”

Ken leaned forward and wrung his hands together. He dropped his gaze to the floor for a moment before lifting it back up to Mark.

“Mark, you’re one of the best on the force. Yeah, I get you’re pretty banged up, and it’s been a rough couple days, but-,” he shook his head and bounced his leg slightly. _Damn he’s really upset._

“Mark, please, I need you to tell me the truth.”

The detective raised a brow and decided to play innocent. “Ken, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I told you everything that happened. There was nothing else.”

Ken let out a breath and rubbed his face with his hands. When he dropped them onto his knees and sat back in his chair, Mark could see the concern in his face.

“What really happened with McLoughlin?”

Mark sucked in a small breath. _Fuck, what does he know? What did he find that is making him question my story?_ Yet he kept his composure and looked Ken in the eye. “I don’t know. My guess is that he’s dead. That’s what Cry said. I bet if you dig around you’ll find that to be true.”

Internally Mark was screaming. _I should continue to play dumb. When he and the team find Sean is actually dead, they’ll either believe me or become even more suspicious._

The older detective stared at him. “We found a car.”

Mark’s eyes widened slightly. Scenes of his final night with Jack flooded his mind.

The underground bar. The intersection. Screeching tires and shattering glass. Jack’s screams. Blood.

_Shit._

“So?” Mark’s voice was tight and it shook ever-so-slightly.

Ken gave him a brief suspicious glance. “Some person saw it on the side of the street and reported it. We went and checked it out, found no registration or paperwork of any kind. It was totaled, with no one around. We checked for prints. They were just barely 48 hours old. There was quite a bit of blood as well.”

Mark swallowed and felt an icy chill run down his spine.

“If you woke up in a dumpster and haven’t seen McLoughlin since the day he abducted you, then why the hell was the car covered in both yours and McLoughlin’s prints?”

 

Mark didn’t say anything for a moment. His mind was racing with the few yet endless scenarios that he could have used to try and explain himself. Yet none of them felt believable enough. Ken would be able to see right through them.

Mark finally let out a shaky breath and gripped the sheets with his fists. “Ken, I can explain.”

Ken’s eyes hardened. “Can you? Can you really, Mark? What the hell happened?”

“Look, Ken, things got complicated. Sean and I-,”

“Oh, so you’re on a first name basis with the guy? That’s just fuckin’ great Mark. What are you going to tell me now, huh? That you and him became butt buddies and spent the evenings dying each other’s hair?”

Mark blinked. He had almost forgotten about his now red locks. The detective subconsciously ran his fingers through it. “Ken, I-,”

“No, Mark, enough. I don’t want your excuses.” He growled and ran a hand through his hair.

“We’ll talk about this later.” Ken’s voice was tight and rough with anger. He rose abruptly to his feet and stormed towards the door. “Get better. Finish out your bed rest.” Ken opened the door and bit and looked back at the redhead. “But as soon as you get back to proper, working order, you have a lot of explaining to do. And I don’t care if I have to drag your ass into an interrogation chamber to pull the truth out of you.”

He stepped out in the hall and went to close the door. Before it was completely shut he paused. Mark heard him sigh and he peeked back into the room.

“Look, I’m sorry about this Mark. But we need the truth. This whole case isn’t adding up and we’re getting nowhere. And it seems like you’re the missing link.” He inhaled sharply and shook his head. “Just… get better, alright?”

Mark could only manage a nod as he looked down at his legs.

“Alright, I’ll talk to you soon.”

And with that Ken shut the door.

 

For a few minutes, Mark just sat there, staring at the closed door. _Damn. Ken was really upset. I don’t blame him though._ Mark looked over at the tray of food that had gone cold. The notecard that rested next to a glass of water caught his eye. _That’s right. That guy left a note. Hopefully he shed a bit of light on this situation in this thing._ He reached out and numbly picked up the card.

The handwriting was smooth and neat cursive, the words written in strikingly blue ink. Mark blinked rapidly to focus his vision before he started to read.

 

_If you received this, then that means you lived. Congratulations. I kind of hoped that you wouldn’t die. Even though it would probably save me a lot of trouble. Call me gracious, but I feel like McLoughlin wouldn’t appreciate you being dead so soon._

 

Mark’s heart damn near stopped. _McLoughlin? Sean?! He’s alive?!_ Sudden hope bloomed in his chest as he continued reading, his hands trembling slightly.

 

_Yet my guess is that he thinks you’re already rotting in the ground. Which technically you should be. But that's besides the point; I have a proposition for you. See, you have something I need, and I have something you want. When you receive your personal belongings upon leaving the hospital, you will find your phone among your clothes. I’ll be contacting you in time through that._

 

The words ended, and Mark naturally flipped the card over, his encounter with his chief almost entirely forgotten. At first glance it was empty, yet Mark saw a small yet noticeable “X” scribbled in the bottom right corner. His blood ran cold.

_X was here. Was he the one that brought me in? Or was it one of his goons?_ Mark found himself scrambling through his brain, trying to recollect his memories of his “mission”.

_After I got away, someone came by. They talked to me, asked my name. They had dark hair, black, I think. It was too dark to see their eyes. And his teeth. They were so straight and white, they seemed to glow in the dark._

That was all he could recall, that and the words the person had told him.

_“Don’t worry, I’ll help you. Just close your eyes and everything will be okay.”_

Mark scratched his head. “Well shit,” he muttered. “Looks like I’ll be trying to find out where Jack is again.” He made it sound like a hassle; a chore. Yet internally he was rejoicing.

_Sean’s alive! Thank god! Now hopefully I can try to keep Ken off my back for a little bit, and then work on getting Sean out of this mess._ Mark’s brow suddenly furrowed. His dream that had included the Irishman the other day suddenly popped into his head. _Shit. I wonder what kind of hell they have him in. It’s probably way worse than mine was._ This thought made him shudder.

The detective clenched the notecard in his fist, his chest filling with determination and impatience. _Once I’m out of this damn hospital I’ll have to dig up some info. It’ll be tough but I’ll manage. And then once X calls, hopefully I’ll be able to find where he’s keeping Jack._

Mark drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. _Hang in there Sean, I’m coming for ya._


	16. Chapter 16

When Daryl came in for the third time, Jack was sleeping. The Irishman had passed out in front of the chair, his head pillowed on his good arm as it rested on the seat of the chair.

Daryl chuckled quietly as he watched the Irishman breathe deeply. He hadn’t even flinched when Daryl came into the room. The brute smirked and brushed Jack’s green hair away from his forehead. Jack stirred a little and groaned. Daryl grinned and waited for him to wake up.

 

At first Jack had been wishing for sleep. His soul-shattering sobs had robbed his body of all its energy, and as he fell into a fit of hiccups and sniffles, his eyes had started to droop. He wanted to escape from reality for a while, especially after his last encounter with Daryl. Jack was sure that he would never get that bitter taste out of his mouth.

What little sleep he got was pure bliss. It was dreamless, thank god, and even though he had situated himself in a somewhat uncomfortable position against the chair, it had been rejuvenating.

He’d slept for a couple of hours. When he felt a something gently brush against his forehead, he thought it might just be his hair. But when it happened again, he knew that he wasn’t alone. From the kindness he had felt in the touch, he figured it must be Nate. No one else would even try to wake him so kindly.

Jack groaned and buried his face in the crook of his arm as he started to fully wake up. He brought his legs underneath him and sat up, keeping his face hidden. He lifted his head and yawned, sleepy tears blurring his vision for a moment. Once he blinked them away, he looked up, expecting to see a dark-haired Nate holding a First Aid kit.

That was not what he saw.

Daryl loomed over him in the dim lighting, a wide smile gracing his face. A small wooden trunk was tucked under his right arm, and he wore a black T-shirt.

“Good morning. Or should I say good evening?”

The Irishman quickly regretted his decision of falling asleep.

Jack yelped and leapt to his feet, taking a few hasty steps away from him. _Thank god my legs decided to work this time,_ Jack thought grimly. Daryl chuckled and pierced him with an amused sneer.

“Ah, you look a bit better. Not as pale or sickly. And you can walk! Must feel good to have your legs back.” He chuckled and dropped the trunk he was holding onto the chair. It landed with a solid _thunk._ Jack tensed and let out a shaky breath as he heard the contents rattle within the trunk. Whatever was in there consisted of a lot of metal.

Daryl turned his back to the Irishman as he opened the trunk. “Now, I have a new rule for you.” He rummaged around in the trunk before he turned back towards Jack, several coils of thin silver chain looped around one meaty hand. Jack eyed the chains and gulped, taking a few more steps back.

The giant smirked and advanced towards him. “This rule is simple. You should do well to remember it.” As he continued to walk towards him, Jack took frantic steps back. He had no idea what Daryl was going to do with those chains, and he didn’t want to know.

“My third rule for you, Sean, is that when we are indulged in our sessions, you are to speak only when spoken to. Whenever you speak out of turn, you will get punished.” He grinned and held up the chains. “Pretty simple, yeah?”

Jack didn’t respond as he continued to back away. Yet his attempt at avoiding this monster was thwarted. Jack’s eyes widened as his back collided with the cold stone of the wall. He glanced hastily at the wall before he turned his frightened gaze back to Daryl. His good hand flattened against the stone, his fingers gripping at the surface.

_Shit. Shitshitshit. I can’t let him get me. If I do, I’m as good as dead._ Yet another voice popped into his head.

_But if you do run, and he catches you, you’ll most definitely die. He’ll throttle the life outta ya!_

Jack bit the inside of his cheek. He stayed flat against the wall, his muscles tensed. If he needed to run, he was ready.

Daryl started getting closer. He shifted the chains between his hands, making them rattle. The noise made Jack grow anxious, and he shifted. Every instinct was telling him to run. Yet he stood his ground.

Daryl stopped when he was about five feet from the Irishman. A small smirk danced across his lips. “Now there’s a good boy,” he cooed. “Just stay still for me, alright? This will make things go much faster.”

He grinned and adjusted the chain. A small ring on the end suddenly caught Jack’s eye, and he watched as Daryl threaded the opposite end of the chain through the ring. He then held up the loop that he had created.

Jack read the gleam in Daryl's eyes perfectly. That was to be his collar and leash. A drop of sweat ran down Jack’s back, making him shiver.

“Now be a good boy and put this on.”

If there was ever a time to run, it was now.

Jack pushed himself off the wall and to the side. Daryl reacted almost instantly and lunged for him. Jack was able to move his nimble body out of the way, and once he regained his footing, he raced towards the door.

He good arm pumped hard as he dashed across the room, and he dared a glance over his shoulder. Daryl was just starting to run after him, the chain noose ready in his grip. Jack shuddered at the thought of that thing around his neck and pushed himself to go faster.

As he closed in on the door, he reached for it, getting ready to haul it open. Once his fingers brushed against the metal handle, he gripped it hard and tugged with all his might. _I've got one shot at this...!_

He almost ripped his damn arm out of his socket.

The door didn’t budge. Jack’s heart shot into his throat before dropping to his toes. He’d fucked up. Bad.

 

Behind him, Daryl quickly closed the space between them. Jack turned around in time for one of Daryl’s hands to close around his pale neck. Jack had just enough time to gasp before Daryl lifted him easily off the ground.

Jack immediately gripped Daryl’s wrist, trying to lift himself up for air, gasping and gritting his teeth. Daryl chuckled darkly as he glared up at him.

“And now we have to do what I didn’t want to do yet. Christ you’re such a pain in my ass. Honestly.” He growled and increased the size of the loop in the chain. With a sigh he slipped it over Jack’s head.

Jack choked and gasped for air. He could feel his face burning, and his lungs were on fire.

“P-Please, d-don’t-t!” He tried to suck in at least a sip of air, but failed.

Daryl smirked. “But I have to. You’re the one that ran, Sean. You did this to yourself.” With that he released the Irishman, letting him drop to the floor.

As Jack fell, he greedily drank in some air. Yet when he landed, hard, on the concrete, all the air was pushed from his body at the sudden impact. Jack jerked into a sitting position as he tried to breath. His ragged gasps filled the room for moment, before he finally coughed and was left panting. His breaths heaved in his chest.

Jack dropped his head and a hand went to his throat, knowing that it would most definitely bruise. His fingertips brushed against the cold chain that hung loosely around his neck. He coughed again and dared a glance up at Daryl.

The brute glared at him. “Hm. How should I do this?" He glanced around the room. "Perhaps the chair would be best.” Daryl wrapped the chain around his hand two times before he gripped it tightly. “Get up,” he growled as he jerked on the chain.

The metal tightened quickly around Jack’s neck, and he choked. He frantically tried to stand, yet found that his awkward sitting position nearly prevented it. Desperate, he reached out and grabbed the closest thing to haul himself up.

Daryl’s pantleg.

Jack gripped the material and hauled himself to his feet. He shut his eyes as he tried to focus on standing and breathing. The chain loosened slightly as he straightened, and he immediately released the fabric in his grip like it burned him.

Then Daryl’s hot breath blew across his face. It reeked of cigarettes and alcohol. Jack’s eyes snapped open, and he instantly trembled at how close he was to this monster. There was just a fraction of a space between them.

Jack instantly went to step back, yet Daryl tightened the chain, holding him in place. Jack stared at him, his eyes wide and swimming with fresh tears. Daryl chuckled.

“You know, your eyes get real big and shiny when you’re scared. They’re pretty like that. I’ll have to make sure I see them like that more often.”

Jack trembled, and a shaky breath escaped him. Daryl smirked and turned back towards the chair, tugging on the chain, making the quivering Irishman stumble after him. He then pulled a silver smartphone from his pocket, greatly confusing the man he was dragging behind him. 

“Now, let’s get started.” 

 

 

The next 24 hours for Mark were hell.

He so desperately wanted to get out of the hospital, to go find Jack, to try and figure out what was going on. Yet the hours dragged on and on. He wasted quite a few of them sleeping, while others were spent getting checked on, taking pills, and walking around a bit.

And then finally, _finally,_ he was allowed to leave.

 

It was late morning when the nurse came in and gave him a tub full of his personal belongings. Mark had already been awake for a few hours and was sitting on his bed, impatiently twiddling his thumbs. Dr. Stein and a few other nurses had been in and out, checking on him and getting him ready to leave. They’d patched up his stitches, gave him some more painkillers, and blessed him with a list of prohibited activities, (which he was mostly definitely going to throw away). 

The nurse set the tub on the bed and rested her hands on her hips.

“Here’s your clothes. We took the liberty of washing them so the blood wouldn't stain. Go ahead and get changed, and then come out to the lobby. We’ll get all your paperwork figured out there. Sound good?”

Mark nodded, his stomach flipping with anxiety and impatience. “Yes, thank you.”

The nurse left, and Mark practically dove for the plastic tub. He tore through his clothes until he got to the bottom. Resting there was his wallet, the company phone, and, his main concern, his personal smart phone.

Mark gingerly picked up the sleek black device and studied it. There was a crack that ran diagonally across the screen. Other than that it looked fine. _Must of happened when they were moving me or something._ He flipped it over and studied the back.

There was evidence that the back had been removed. _They must have removed the tracker._ He bit his lip as he pressed the power button.

The screen came to life, and he immediately saw that he had a full battery and a new voicemail. Mark hastily unlocked the device and dialed his voicemail. After he entered the password, he waited, his breath held.

_"You have, one, unheard message."_

There was a scratching noise that made a shiver run down Mark’s spine. And then the baritone voice of a man slipped from the phone. His tone was light and slightly sadistic.

_“So, you’ve got your phone back. Must be relieved. I know how attached people are to their devices these days.”_ The man chuckled. _“Now, to get down to business.”_ There was a bit of shuffling from the other end, as if the person was moving.

_“You see, Mr. Fischbach, my boss needs something that you have.”_

Mark deflated a little. This wasn’t X.

_“Sorry. You were probably expecting X to leave you a message, huh? But see, he can’t. He’s not here right now. The name’s Daryl. Now as for what my boss wants, it’s nothing extremely important, but it would do him a great service if he were to acquire it. And I think we both know what he’d be willing to give you in return for your cooperation.”_

Again there was movement, and then Mark could just barely make out the sound of someone breathing heavily. There was also the slight rattle of chains. The detective shifted uncomfortably as he pressed the phone against his ear, listening closely.

_“Say, you’d probably like to hear his voice. I find it rather adorable.”_

There was a brief moment of silence. And then suddenly, Jack’s weak, pain-filled voice slipped through the phone.

_“N-No, please… please d-don’t.”_

Mark’s body tensed as the Irishman’s voice echoed throughout his skull.

_Jack..._

_“Ah, hush little Sean. I just want to hear you scream.”_

Jack whimpered and pleaded some more. Mark slowly surfaced from his shock as anger bubbled up in his chest. He licked his lips and let out a small breath, trying to ease the blood pounding in his head. Jack yelped from the phone, chains rattling loudly in the background.

_“Please, stop! D-Don’t do this!”_

And then there was screaming. Mark flinched and nearly dropped the phone at how loud and painful the scream was. Amongst the wails he could make out a few words.

_“N-No! S-Stop it!”_ Jack wailed. He then screamed again.

Mark gripped the phone tightly in his hand as the shrieking faded, replaced with pitiful whimpers and sobs. And then they were gone, and a deep chuckle replaced them.

_“He’s such a delight. By far one of my favorites. But anyway…,”_

There was a rustle of paper, and then Mark heard some awful screeching, like very old and rusty hinges. Then there was a slam before Daryl spoke again.

_“We have one task for you, detective. Stay quiet. If you tell the police any more than you already have, Jack will be dead within the hour of which you spill your guts to your police buddies. I hope I make myself clear.”_ Again, Daryl chuckled. _“X will call you once he feels you’re ready for the next task. Until then though, enjoy your free time. You don’t have much left.”_

The message ended.

 

Mark slowly lowered the phone onto his lap and ended the voicemail call. His almond eyes were wide and unblinking as he stared at nothing. For a moment, his head swam, thoughts darting here and there. And then one thought snapped into perspective, and Mark inhaled sharply.

_Sean needs my help._

With a flurry of the sheets, Mark sprang off the bed. He snatched the tub and dumped its contents onto the mattress. In a matter of seconds, he had stripped out his paper gown and had gotten his jeans on. He then slipped on his socks and shoes. Mark threw on his flannel and buttoned it up. He then hastily slipped his wallet in his back pocket. 

Then Mark stuffed his phone in his hip pocket. His gaze swept over the room, checking to see if he needed anything else. The notecard caught his attention. He snatched it off the nightstand where he’d left it and folded it up, sliding it into his flannel's breast pocket. 

With a quick exhale, he opened the door and stepped into the hall. He looked back inside for a brief moment. His gaze dropped to the bed. On it sat the company phone Ken had given him. 

_Here goes nothing._ With that Mark closed the door and made his way towards the lobby.


	17. Chapter 17

If there was ever a time in his life that he wished he was dead, it was now.

Jack was propped up against the back wall of his prison, his legs stretched out in front of him while his good arm lied limp beside him. His blue eyes were dark and half-lidded. Shuddering breaths passed over bloody and cracked lips. Green hair was plastered to his damp forehead, and his vision faded in and out.

If anyone were to come in, they would have thought he was dead.

The Irishman’s chest was bare. Draped around his neck was the thin chain. There was a dark bruise encircling his neck where the harsh chain had been when Daryl tightened it. A larger, lighter bruise could be seen where Daryl had choked him. The chain was loose and relaxed now, and hung loosely against his bare chest, making Jack shudder slightly. Along with the chain was a black plastic shock collar.

Yet he didn’t dare take either of these items off. Lord knows what would happen if Daryl came back and found Jack without them on.

Jack blinked as his mind replayed his “session” with the brute, which had occurred a few hours ago. His dull eyes stared up at the ceiling, and he took a deep, shuddering breath.

\---

 

After Daryl had dragged him over to the chair, he’d slid the trunk off of it and thrown Jack onto the metal thing. Jack barely had time to right himself properly in the seat before the chain around his neck tightened. He choked and struggled.

Daryl wrapped the chain around the back of the chair and tied it in a crude fashion, leaving Jack pulled back painfully against the metal chair. His airway was partially blocked, and he struggled to take in a full breath. Jack squirmed against the chain, wanting desperately to rip it off.

“I suggest you hold still,” Daryl mumbled. “This will be a whole hell of a lot easier if you do.”

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a piece of rope. Daryl then proceeded to snatch Jack’s good wrist and pin it behind his back, trying it to the chair. Now Jack could go nowhere.

The Irishman struggled against the rope and tried to keep his neck still. Daryl chuckled at his efforts. “You don’t listen very well, do you?” He turned back to his trunk and grabbed something from inside. Jack didn’t get a good look at it, but Daryl moved behind him, making Jack tense and struggle even more.

“Perhaps this will make you listen better.”

His large hands were suddenly on either side of Jack’s neck, and he fingertips brushed against his skin. Jack flinched and tried to pull away, but the chain kept him in place. Suddenly there was something cold and plastic around his neck. The Irishman inhaled sharply. Then the thing tightened, and Jack yelped as he felt two metal prongs bite into his skin. Daryl chuckled and came back around in front of him. Jack followed him with wide eyes as he tried to stay calm and breathe.

“There. Now you look like a proper pet.”

Jack squirmed in his chair and tried to free his arm. Daryl shook his head as he grinned.

“Perhaps we should get started before I make my call.”

With that he went back to the trunk and pulled out a small black remote. He turned back to Jack as he fiddled with the various knobs on the thing.

“Hm, I think that should be a decent starting point. Let’s give it a test, shall we?”

Daryl pushed a large button on the remote, and almost immediately Jack felt a sharp, searing pain zip through his neck and tingle in his toes. He gasped and jerked to the side, trying to shy away from the two prongs digging into his skin. Daryl chuckled.

“Wonderful. Let’s kick it up a notch.”

He turned a knob and pushed the button. This time Jack cried out as the burn washed over him. Yet this time it lasted longer, and he twitched as his muscles tensed.

And then it was gone. Jack gasped as he tried to catch his breath. Yet Daryl shocked him again.

“Gaah!” Jack tried to double over, yet the chain around his neck tightened and he jerked back against the chair, his chest heaving painfully. As the shock coursed through him, he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes.

“Please… s-stop,” he stuttered. Daryl scoffed and stopped the shock. Jack trembled and opened his eyes partially as he tried to catch his breath.

And then one of Daryl’s fists smashed into the side of his face.

Jack’s head snapped to the side, too startled to even cry out. He felt blood run down his cheek, as he gritted his teeth and tried to stop the tears that were forming in his eyes.

“Have you forgotten the rule I gave you already? Christ what a stubborn brat you are.” Daryl punched him again, this time splitting his lip. Jack cried out and ducked his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut. The chain around his neck tightened as he pulled away, and he couldn’t help the hiccup of a sob that escaped him.

“The third rule I gave you Sean. Not ten minutes ago. What was it?”

Jack hiccuped as he slowly turned his pained gazed towards Daryl. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood from his cheek and lip.

“T… T-To only speak when s-spoken t-to.”

“Very good.” Daryl smiled ran a thumb across Jack’s uncut cheek. Jack bit his lip and jerked his head away. At this Daryl chuckled and smacked Jack’s cheek lightly, making the Irishman jump.

“Now, wait here. I have a call to make.”

With that he left the room, leaving the door open, and stood in the hall. Jack couldn’t see him as his back was turned towards the door, but he heard Daryl muttering. His ears picked up a few words. He heard X mentioned, and then something about a deal. He was probably bartering with the police or something.

And then he came back into the room. The pace of Jack’s breathing quickened as fear shot through him. Daryl stopped at his side and grinned down at him, his silver smartphone pressed to his ear. He then lowered it down by Jack, and Jack couldn’t help but tremble.

“Say, you’d probably like to hear his voice. I find it rather adorable,” Daryl said into the phone. Jack tensed as Daryl brought the phone close to his face. Jack then saw him fiddle with the remote again. He shifted, making his chains rattle slightly.

“N-No, please… please d-don’t.”

Daryl smirked silently at him, the gleam in his eye almost insane. “Ah, hush little Sean. I just want to hear you scream.”

Jack whimpered at those words and tried desperately to break free. Daryl trailed the remote against Jack’s neck as he started to walk around him.

“Please, stop! D-Don’t do this!”

Then Daryl cranked the knob and firmly pressed the button.

It felt like fire was consuming him. Jack threw back his head and screamed, feeling his voice practically rip his throat apart. The pain lasted for a few seconds, then stopped. He panted and shook his head as his screams paused for a moment. Daryl went to press the button again.

“N-No! S-Stop it!” Jack wailed.

He then screamed again as the intense shock consumed him.

It lasted a few seconds longer than the last, and once it was over, he couldn’t help but drop his head as far as the chain would allow and let a strangled sob escape him. His muscles were sore, and his breaths heaved in his chest. He felt like his body had been run over a washboard, and his nerves were fried. A few more sobs racked his frame and he whimpered.

Daryl chuckled and put the phone back to his ear

“He’s such a delight. By far one of my favorites. But anyway…,”

He then left the room again, and shut the door behind him.

 

Jack trembled in the chair as he continued to sob. He hoped that Daryl had left for good, but he also wanted him to come back and take these stupid things off him. Jack lifted his head and bit his lip as tears ran down his face. He hoped that whoever was on the other end of the phone was going to help him, in some way or another.

After a few minutes Daryl returned. Jack had fallen into a trembling state, hiccups and shuddering breaths disrupting his breathing. Daryl then proceeded in untying Jack’s arm and his neck.

Jack felt relieved once he could move his head freely without the fear of choking. Yet his relief was short-lived.

Daryl gripped the front of Jack’s blood and tear-stained shirt, pulling him to his feet. Jack hissed as his broken arm was jostled. With his free hand, Daryl reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pocketknife. He flipped the blade open and held it delicately against Jack’s uncut cheek. Jack tensed and went still.

“So, now that that task is out of the way,” he grinned as he flicked the knife across Jack’s skin. Jack gasped as he felt the sharp blade slice his cheek. A trail of blood made its way down to his chin. “Let’s get down to the good part, shall we?”

Jack’s body went stiff, and an uneasy chill crawled down his spine.

 

Daryl released Jack’s shirt, and snatched the chain instead. He tugged on it, making Jack grit his teeth and try to breathe.

“You better hold still, Sean. Wouldn’t want your guts all over the floor, would ya?”

Daryl chuckled as he pressed the knife lightly against Jack’s stomach. The Irishman drew in a quick breath as he stiffened, his eyes going wide. With a sneer, Daryl moved his hand upward, trailing the knife up towards Jack’s chest.

Jack could hear fabric tearing, and he winced as the knife sliced his skin occasionally. He shut his eyes and gripped at the chain around his neck as he kept agonizingly still. He trembled when the knife passed over his chest and paused at the base of his throat. And then Daryl moved the knife away from him and chuckled.

The Irishman dared to open his eyes, and he gulped when he looked down to assess the damage.

Daryl had partially cut Jack’s shirt, and only a few strands of cloth kept the shirt closed. Jack could see thin red lines where the knife had made contact with his skin. He shivered as a drop of blood trickled down his stomach and soaked into the waistline of his jeans. Daryl chuckled and wiped the knife’s blade on his pant-leg, leaving a small blood smear on the tan material. He then folded it back up and slipped it in his pocket.

“Now, let’s get this disgusting thing off you.”

Jack trembled and took a small step back. Daryl fixed him with a displeased glare as he jerked on the chain. Jack yelped at the pain and sudden lack of air. He stilled, and Daryl loosened the chain.

Before Jack could make any other move to escape, Daryl balled his fist in Jack’s shirt. Without any hesitation he tore the bloody material away from Jack’s torso. Jack winced as his broken arm was moved as the shirt was yanked off of him. Daryl then tore the sleeve on said arm, leaving only what was caught in the sling.

Jack shivered as the cool air slapped against his now bare chest and back. He tried to calm his breathing, as he had started to hyperventilate some. Daryl chuckled as his hard brown eyes raked Jack’s naked torso. Jack felt his grip tighten on the chain.

“Hm, you got some pretty serious bruising on your ribs there. Probably from your little accident with the detective.”

The Irishman tensed and his eyes widened. _He knows about Mark?_

Daryl gave him a crooked grin. “What, did you think I didn’t know about your latest prize? I know everything, Sean. I know that you stole him from Felix and Cry, and that you told him everything. I also know that you went to see that other Irish shmuck, Daithi, I believe.” Daryl sneered and brought Jack’s face closer to his own, his eyes boring into Jack’s. “And even as we speak, my own men are turning that filthy place inside out, trying to find out what exactly you told him.”

Jack’s eyes widened. _They’re… they’re going after Daithi?!_ He squirmed against the chain, and Daryl chuckled at his efforts.

“Y’know, if you weren’t my torture charge, I’d take you on as one of my own men.” He smirked and lowered his voice a little. “For a price, of course.”

Jack could see what he meant in his eyes, and his stomach churned. A low growl escaped him. “I’d never join you or your disgusting group.”

Before Jack could really register what was happening, Daryl’s fist collided with his face. Stunned, Jack stumbled backwards and fell to the floor, Daryl releasing the chain. He felt blood instantly spurt from his nose, and his mouth felt like it was filled with the coppery stuff in an instant.

Jack coughed and brought up a hand to hold his pounding nose. Blood dripped onto his chest.

 

Daryl snarled, sending a sharp chill racing down Jack’s spine, and stalked towards him.

“Again with your manners. One, you spoke out of line, and two, you dared to get snippy!” The brute approached Jack angrily and kicked him in the side. Jack grunted and rolled to the side the best he could with his wounded arm. Before he could get too far, Daryl placed a heavy booted foot on his chest. Jack frantically tried to writhe out from under his heavy boot. Daryl sneered down at Jack as he applied a significant amount of pressure.

“I think this deserves a thorough punish!”

Jack grimaced and gripped Daryl’s boot with his good hand, trying to push him off. Daryl scoffed and dug his foot into Jack’s skin.

“G-Gaaaaaah!”

Hot tears pricked Jack’s eyes as the tread on Daryl’s boot dug into his skin. Plus, the pressure was enormous, and he couldn’t quite breath right, no thanks to his blood-gushing nose.

He desperately panted, trying to ease himself through the pain. Yet it only got worse.

Jack whimpered as Daryl twisted his foot slightly.

“Let’s begin your first proper lesson.”

 

\---

 

Jack inhaled softly as his mind resurfaced. He leaned his pounding head against the cool wall as he slowly came back from his memory-recalling trip.

_I wish I was dead._

Daryl had beat the ever-living shit out of him. It hurt to breathe, as he was sure that his ribs were cracked. His face was adorned with large, dark bruises, and his lips were split and bloody. The blood from his nose had strayed on to his chest and had dried there. His nose was swollen and it was hard to breathe through. It was probably broken.

His good arm was sore and numb. Daryl had hyper-extended it. And then there was his bad arm.

Daryl had torn the sling off, and he had squeezed it for fun. Jack screamed bloody murder when he twisted it.

 

Jack closed his eyes as he tried to breathe. His lungs ached, and every breath hurt. He felt himself losing consciousness. The physical and emotional stress of the previous events had done a huge number on him, and he was fading fast.

As he slipped into darkness, he thought of Mark. If he died, would he see the detective again? Would they see each other? Jack took a deep, shuddering breath, ignoring the throbbing pain that pulsed through his aching limbs. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his swollen, bloody lips. _He probably wouldn’t want to see me. After all, I’m the one that got him killed. If I had just left him alone, he’d still be alive._

A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye and trailed down his cheek. He then let out a small breath, his conscious fading. His head rolled to the side, and he stilled. His breathing evened out and became shallow.

 

A few minutes later, the door to the room screeched as someone opened it. A figure stepped through and shut it. They cocked their head as they studied the bloody and bruised, half naked Irishman, whose neck was adorned with a shock collar and chain. The person grinned.

“Looks like I have a lot of work to do.”


	18. Chapter 18

Mark left the hospital and took a cab to his apartment. His wounds were sore, and he was exhausted, yet he was anxious. He probably needed a well-deserved nap, yet he knew there was no way he would be able to lie still long enough to fall asleep.

 

Once he was inside and settled, he made himself a sandwich and ate it on the couch. As he chewed, he thought about his strategies for finding Jack.

_I’ll let X call. Perhaps he’ll set up a place and time to meet, in order for an exchange._ Mark swallowed and furrowed his brow. _Yet how is he going to get what I have from me? Is he going to blackmail me into keeping what I know secret? That’ll probably be his best bet. That or killing me. And if that were the case, then X would try to lure him out with Jack. And then X would certainly kill them both._

Mark shook his head and finished his snack. Once he rinsed the plate and left it in the sink, he went to his room. He opened his closet and peered inside for a moment. Then he started pulling out items and tossing them on the bed.

_I need to be prepared for anything. It would be suicide to walk around defenseless._

As he tossed the last thing on the bed, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Mark tensed and slowly pulled it out.

_I hope it’s a free trip to the Bahamas,_ he thought sarcastically.

The caller ID showed a blocked number. Mark slid the answer bar and pressed the phone to his ear.

“…Hello?”

For a moment, there was only silence. And then a chuckle came through, making Mark flinch and grit his teeth.

“So…” It was a male voice that came through the phone, garbled as if it was playing through a voice changer. “I believe you got Daryl’s message?”

Mark furrowed his brow and lowered himself onto the bed. “I did.”

“Good,” the man said with another chuckle. “And how would you rate his performance? Adequate? Did he get the right message across?”

The detective held back a growl. This guy was just as sadistic as the rest of them. “He did.”

“Excellent. He’s truly one of my best men. Never questions an order, always does what he’s told.”

 

Mark bit his lip. This was definitely X. There was no other person who would talk like that. 

He clenched his fist into the comforter. “Where’s Sean?”

“Oh McLoughlin? That poor bastard, such a waste. He was a fine soldier.” X snickered. “Don’t worry about ol’ Jackaboy at the moment, detective. Worry about yourself. Y’see,” Mark could hear the sneer in his voice. “I believe there’s someone in your apartment at this very moment.”

 

Mark’s blood ran cold. He slowly stood up and took the phone away from his ear and listened. He heard nothing out of the ordinary, yet the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

_I have a funny feeling that he’s not kidding._

The detective brought the phone back to his ear.

“How do you know that?”

“Simple. I sent them to collect you.”

 

There was a click as X hung up, and before Mark had time to really react, there was a crash outside his bedroom door.

Mark jumped and immediately moved to bar the door with a chair. Thank god he still had it in here. He’d used it to put stuff on the top shelf in his closest and never took it back to the kitchen. 

The detective hurriedly grabbed the items he’d thrown on the bed, which were clothes, and pulled off his shirt. He put on a white tank top, a bullet proof vest, a T-shirt, and a flannel, and stuffed his phone in his pocket. His spare gun, which he kept in the dresser, quickly went in the waistband of his jeans. He’d lost the other one on his little adventure.

 

Just as he adjusted the flannel to hide the weapon, the bedroom door burst open, the chair falling to the floor with a thud. Mark whirled around to see three men dressed completely in black charge at him.

 

The detective’s trained instincts kicked in, and he swung his fist at the closest man, yet the guy ducked. He dove at Mark’s waist, football tackling him to the floor.

The man pinned the detective and tried to bash his face in, yet Mark managed to slam a fist into his face. Holding his nose, the guy rolled off him, only to be replaced by a second guy trying to stomp the detective’s guts out. Mark rolled out of the way and hopped to his feet, smashing his fist into the guy’s stomach.

 

Mark made valiant efforts to fight the three men off. He delivered nasty blows to each of them, but when one guy nailed him in the gut and another hit him over the head with a thick hardcover book simultaneously, Mark fell to his knees, stunned and breathless. He managed to look up just in time to receive a fist to the face.

He tumbled over onto his side and tried to push himself up. Yet a kick to the gut forced him back down. Mark coughed and spit out a wad of bloody saliva. The stitches in his side screamed, yet he didn’t feel them tear open.

 

One of the men, a blonde fellow with brown eyes, growled as he wiped his bloody lip. “Put him out, then gag and bag ‘im. We’ll rendezvous with the boss at the second location.”

Mark managed to push himself up on his elbows and looked up at the blonde, his nose gushing blood and a cut above his eyebrow spilling more of the red liquid into his eye. The second guy, a dude with a crooked nose and blue eyes, smirked and slammed his fist into the detective’s face. Mark flopped back onto the carpet and was still.

The three men quickly gagged the unconscious detective and put a black bag over his head. They tied his hands behind his back and zip-tied his ankles together. The biggest guy, a 6’5 African American, tossed Mark over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

The trio left the apartment and piled into a silver Chevy SUV, tossing Mark unceremoniously in the back. Then they flew down the street, tires squealing, and made their way downtown.

 

The first thing he noticed was darkness. And a musty smell.

Mark woke up slowly, his head pounding and body aching. He groaned and opened his eyes, blinking away the bleariness. Yet all he could still see was darkness.

_Ugh… well this sucks. Where am I?_

After a bit of shifting, he realized that the darkness was from a bag over his head. The musty smell was also the bag. He tried to call out, yet found he was gagged with a sour cloth. The disgusting flavor of the thing invaded his mouth, and he nearly gagged.

The detective forced the bile in his throat down and shook his head, trying to anchor himself. Once he felt he had control of his bodily functions, he explored his current state.

 

He moved his arms and wrists, finding them cuffed to the arms of a chair that he was sitting in. After a bit of tugging he figured they were leather straps. When he tested his legs, he found that his ankles were also strapped to the chair. Mark growled and shifted, trying to get a feel of the environment around him.

It was cold, and from what he could gather from behind his blindfold, the place was probably dark. And eerily quiet. There was no other sound beside his own breathing.

_Guess I fucked up again._ He cursed himself for being abducted again. Ken wasn't going to be happy with his second disappearance. 

 

Suddenly there was the sound of a door being opened and several voices. Mark flinched and struggled in his chair. People, men, laughed around him.

“Awe, is the detective scared?”

Someone else snickered. “What’s the matter Fischbach? Nervous?”

All of them cackled and Mark struggled even more. _These guys must be a part of the questioning crew or something. Maybe they’ll beat me to a pulp before sending me off to X, gift-wrapped and everything._

They continued to laugh and taunt him, and at one point someone grabbed ahold of his hair through the bag.

Mark winced and struggled. They chuckled and shook his head around. “Heh, I owe you for getting away from me you son of a bitch. Earned me a pretty nasty gash.”

The detective growled as he recognized the voice from the night of the car crash.

_Jim. It’s a shame they didn’t kill him for fuckin’ up._

The grip on his hair tightened, and Mark bit down on the gag, holding back a yelp of pain.

“I oughta beat you to a pulp for that little stunt. X was not pleased that you managed to get away, and instead of taking it out on you, he took it out on me. So now I’m gonna repay the favor!”

Mark held his breath, waiting for a punch or something.

A man suddenly spoke from behind him.

“That’s enough Jim.”

That voice. Mark felt he had heard it before, but he couldn’t remember where or when. He then felt Jim release his hair as if it burned him.

“X! W-What are you doing here?”

 

Mark tensed. _X? He’s here?! But I thought that he never showed up to this kind of thing?_

 

He heard footsteps approaching, and there was a slight shuffle as the other men moved out of the way. Mark shuddered in his seat and tugged at his restraints. The room had fallen silent again.

There was the sound of someone clicking their tongue on his right. “Remove those. They’re not necessary.”

The men around Mark moved quickly and removed the leather straps on his ankles, and he felt someone grab the bag over his head. 

“I’d leave that on. He’s not ready to see what’s in front of him.”

Mark tensed and jerked against the straps on his wrist. _What in the world is he talking about?_

Once that was done, X clapped his hands and spoke up again.

“That is all, gentlemen. Leave us.”

“Are you sure?” Jim’s voice was shaky as he asked.

There was silence, and Jim cleared his throat nervously. “A-Alright boys let’s go. You heard ‘im.”

Mark listened as the herd of footsteps got quieter and quieter. A door closing cut them off completely, leaving the room is silence once again.

 

The detective shifted uncomfortably in his seat and waited. For at least a full minute if not two, he could hear nothing but his own breathing. And then X cleared his throat.

“So, we meet at last.” He started walking around Mark, and Mark straightened, waiting for something to happen.

_So this is how it’s going to be,_ Mark thought. _He’s gonna keep me in the dark and hash out his conditions, and then force me to agree. Probably thinks I’m an easy negotiator…_

 

Mark’s theory was that X would try and pry the information out of him using torture or bartering. Or he might even force Mark to keep the information a secret. The info for Jack, or something like that. Yet what Mark had planned was that he would play hard-to-get. Force his own conditions, get Jack out of here first, and then barter with X. Or kill him and run. Yet Mark couldn’t feel his gun in his waistband anymore, so he would have to be a tough seller if he got the chance.

 

“Y’know, you’ve caused me a lot of trouble,” X said as he circled the detective. “I never figured you’d be the reason our plans nearly failed. In fact, I thought you’d be the key to boosting them further towards success.” He chuckled. “Yet it seems that McLoughlin just couldn’t stick with the plan.”

Mark stiffened. This talk about Jack was making him nervous, and he was anxious to try and weasel his way out of this so that he could find the Irishman.

“But I’m impressed! Even when Ken came to you and directly accused you of working with Sean, you kept up your charade just enough to put him off. Had you let him in on what you’d done, you wouldn’t be here right now. You’d be in the cooler at the hospital, waiting to be transported to the morgue.” X snorted, making Mark flinch at the unnecessary noise.

_I don’t even want to begin to think what he means by that. And how the hell does he know about Ken coming to the hospital? The intel this guy gets is scary..._

“I think that earns you a small treat.”

 

There was a shift in the bag over his head, and then it was suddenly pulled free. Mark blinked at the sudden visibility and light. He shook his head and looked around. He couldn’t see X anywhere, meaning he was probably right behind him.

This was confirmed when X chuckled. “Good lord, you look like shit, pardon my French. Guess Xavier and his boys went a little too rough. Unless you fought a good deal, of course, then you deserved it,” he said with a smirk that was clearly visible in his voice.

He moved away from Mark, and started to walk around him again. Yet the room was so dark and dense that Mark couldn’t even see him, only hear him. There was a small lantern off to the side hanging on a wall that provided some light, but even when X passed in front of it, all Mark could see was a silhouette.

 

“So, down to business.” X stopped somewhere in front of him, and Mark strained to make out any features at all. “I believe Daryl mentioned a trade, or a deal of sorts. See, you have something I need, detective.”

X shifted, and Mark could hear the faint squeaking of what sounded like wheels.

“And I have something that you want.”

Mark’s eyes widened at the sight that emerged from the darkness. He trembled and tugged at his restraints. Words wanted to spill from his mouth, but his throat tightened, and even without the gag he wouldn't have been able to get a single syllable out. All thoughts of escape and bartering flew out the window at the sight before him. 

_Oh my god…_

It was Jack.


	19. Chapter 19

_Oh God, Jack..._ Mark's heart was pounding in his chest as he studied the Irishman, the man he'd being trying to rescue. _My god..._

 

Jack was propped up in a rolling office chair and unconscious. He was shirtless, and the knees of his jeans were ripped. His green hair was filthy and tangled, most of it hiding his closed eyes. Large dark purple, black, and yellow bruises covered his face. Dried blood was crusted on the left side of his face as well as his lips and chin. Mark could also see dried blood in his right ear.

His arms were in his lap, the right one bent at a funny angle, all swollen and bruised. There were cuts all over his bare chest and stomach, and it looked like his sides were bruised. His ribs were definitely bruised and cracked, if not broken. Around Jack's neck was a shock collar. Just above the collar were several rings of bruises, like he’d been choked repeatedly with something.

Overall the Irishman was filthy and broken.

 

Mark struggled in his chair and tried to call out to Jack.

“Mph!”

_Oh my god… He looks awful. I should have found him sooner. I should have saved him._

 

X chuckled somewhere behind the unresponsive Irishman. “Don’t even bother. He’s been out cold for about a day now. He won’t be waking up anytime soon. Well, naturally anyway.”

Mark heard X walking to his right, and he struggled to break free of the leather straps.

“Oh quit fighting," X scolded. "It’s pointless! Now that I have you here, I can get what I need from you, and you can get your beloved tater-tot back.” He chuckled. “So are you ready to sit still and cooperate?”

The detective struggled a little more, and then looked back at Jack. Just him slouched there was painful to see. Mark took a deep breath and nodded stiffly.

“Good,” X said. “Now, what I need from you is what you know about the case. And about us. I’ve already gathered that you know too much. Jack told you more than he ever should have.”

Mark furrowed his brow in confusion. _Why are they so obsessed with knowing what we know? It doesn’t make any sense at all._ He struggled against his restraints and glared in X’s direction.

Within the darkness X scoffed. “If I take the gag off will you at least try to cooperate?”

Mark hesitated before nodding. He heard X move behind him, and then there were hands on the back of his neck, fumbling with the gag.

The gag then fell limp around his neck, and Mark coughed. He drew in a deep breath of clean air and licked his chapped lips.

X chuckled quietly and walked around Mark to the left. “Now, what do you know?”

Mark glared at him and licked his lips again.

_I should tell him the bare minimum. That way I can give him a false sense of security, and perhaps get out of here sooner. If he lets me go, which he probably won’t._

“All we know is that there’s some reason for the break-ins besides a desire for valuables, and that they were carried out by multiple parties. The department has no specifics on file.”

 

X was silent for a moment, and then he smirked. “That was before you went back to the station. I imagine you told the Chief something of importance about the case.”

Mark tensed, then relaxed as he thought back to the conversation he’d had with Ken. There had been no talk about the case, just about his abduction. The detective smirked.

“No, I said nothing. The case itself was never brought up.”

Again there was silence, and X started walking around him again. “Yet he was suspicious of you at the hospital. You told him something that didn’t add up to what he found.”

Unease started to gnaw at Mark’s gut, and he struggled a bit. “Do you know what he found?” Mark asked, unsure of where this was going.

“I do," X replied. "He found Jack’s car, all trashed and covered in your fingerprints. Now I believe you didn’t tell him about the adventures you and Jackaboy had, did you?” 

Mark glanced at the unconscious Jack across the room. X chuckled.

“I thought as much.”

 

Suddenly there was a loud booming knock on the door. Mark flinched at the loud noise.

“Come in,” X called. The door opened, its squeaky hinges echoing throughout the room. A figure strode confidently through the door.

Even in the dim lighting of the room, Mark could see how huge this person was. Their thick and wide frame came lumbering towards them, and came to a halt beside Jack. The detective heard X chuckle.

“Daryl, right on time. Take Sean here back to his room. Continue your sessions, but keep him alive. We still need a few things from him.”

Mark’s blood boiled as he recognized the name. This was the bastard who left him the voicemail of Jack screaming.

He tugged at his restraints and gritted his teeth. The urge to beat the shit outta this guy was strong. Mark didn’t care if Daryl was the human resemblance of a baby whale, this guy deserved to have his teeth bashed into his skull.

Daryl glanced over at Mark and studied him. Then a smirk played over his clean-shaven face.

“Ah, so this is the detective Sean’s infatuated with.”

Mark tensed as Daryl turned towards him. X chuckled from his hiding spot in the darkness.

“Yes, this is him. Daryl, meet Detective Mark Fischbach. Detective, meet Daryl.”

Daryl walked slowly over to the restrained detective. Mark struggled against the leather straps around his wrists, his mind and heart racing.

_His eyes. They’re so cold. And dark._

The brute of a man stopped right in front of Mark and looked down at him. Mark squirmed in his seat and glared up at him, angry brown eyes meeting cold amber ones.

Daryl smirked and snatched a hold of Mark’s red hair. The detective gritted his teeth and stilled.

Turning Mark’s head to the side, Daryl studied his face. His eyes scanned over every inch of Mark’s tan skin, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Shame you have to let ‘im go.”

Mark stiffened as X laughed. “You think so? I considered having you take him a few rounds.”

Daryl chuckled and released Mark’s hair. “And why didn’t you?”

“I figured it’d be best to keep the fun one-sided. That way there’s a greater motivation.”

 

With a slow nod Daryl took a few steps back and turned back to Jack. He chuckled softly and rested a large hand on Jack’s shoulder. Then he turned back to Mark and grinned.

“It’s really a shame, Detective, that you couldn’t have found Sean sooner,” Daryl said.

Mark fought against his restraints and glared at Daryl. “You get away from him you son of a bitch.”

Daryl snorted with laughter. “That’s hilarious. No, I think I won’t. Besides, there’s still a lot of fun to be had between Sean and I.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a syringe filled with clear liquid.

 

Mark’s mind was immediately flooded with images from his dream. That syringe had been involved, and whatever it did to Jack in his dream was obviously very painful.

 

Daryl confidently removed the cap from the needle and stuck it in Jack’s neck. Mark winced at the blood that instantly welled from beneath the skin and ran down Jack’s chest. Daryl then forced the liquid from the syringe into Jack’s neck.

Once he’d emptied the whole thing, Daryl retracted the needle and put the cap back on it, then slid the syringe back into his pocket.

 

For a moment nothing happened. Mark kept his eyes glued to the Irishman, expecting him to lurch and started screaming. X chuckled from the darkness.

“I thought you were going to wait to give him that?”

Daryl smirked and patted Jack’s shoulder. “I thought it'd be more entertaining to give it to him now. I want to see the reaction.”

Mark took into consideration their words and kept his gaze on Jack. _C’mon Jack, wake up. Wake up and see me here._

 

Suddenly Jack twitched. It was a small movement, but it was noticeable. Then a low groan escaped him, and his head rolled to the side.

Mark shifted in his chair. “Jack! Jack can y-mph!”

His eyes widened as his words were cut off by the gag being shoved into his mouth and tightened around his head. Behind him X chuckled.

“Sorry Detective, but perhaps we should let Jack wake on his own,” X said quietly.

Mark struggled against his restraints and tried to call out to Jack again. _I have to let him know I’m here. I have to let him know I’m alive and that he can fight back!_

 

Jack groaned again and his eyes slowly opened. He blinked them a few times before he managed to keep them partially opened. A soft breath passed over his lips before he looked around weakly.

When his dull blue eyes caught sight of Daryl, he instantly tensed up and began to tremble. Jack scooted away from him and consequently fell out of his chair. He yelped as he fell and with a loud thump he landed on the concrete floor.

“Ggh!” Jack grimaced as he curled into a ball, cradling his broken arm and squeezing his eyes shut.

Daryl chuckled and walked over to him, crouching down beside him and studying his face.

“What’s wrong Sean? Are you scared?” He sneered and rested a hand on Jack’s arm. Jack flinched and trembled.

“P-Please,” he whimpered, “Just leave me alone.”

“Aw but Sean, I can’t do that. See, there’s still a bit of info we need from you.”

Jack cracked open an eye and glanced up at Daryl briefly before looking at the floor.

 

Strapped in his chair, Mark desperately tried to catch Jack’s attention. He struggled against his restraints and tried to make any extra movement to get Jack to notice him. Yet Daryl was blocking Jack’s view, and Mark knew Jack couldn’t see anything past the brute of a man.

_Come on Jack, look around! See me, hear me, anything!_

 

Suddenly there was something cold and hard pressed to the back of his skull. Mark barely made out the audible _click_ that came from said object. He instantly realized that he had a gun pressed against his head.

Mark tensed as X chuckled. “I want to play a game, Detective. It’s called Deceit and Denial. You up for it?”

The detective did nothing as X snickered. “Here’s how it goes.” The gag around Mark’s head suddenly loosened, and he immediately spit it out. Before he could call out to Jack though, the barrel of the gun bit into the back of his head.

“Make a sound and you’re dead.”

Mark grit his teeth and stiffened. _I swear to God once I’m out of here I’m killing both of these guys._

Then X suddenly reached around and undid the leather straps around Mark’s wrists. Pleasantly surprised, Mark drew his bruised wrists to his chest and rubbed them.

_What is X playing at here?_

Behind him X chuckled again, and Mark felt the gun relax just a little bit.

“Here’s how the game goes Fischbach,” X said quietly. “I let Jack see you. You sit here like a good boy and don’t move. Look comfortable; relaxed. You say what I tell you to, and then you can leave. Without Jack. If you decide to break the rules, I’ll blow your brains out, all over the floor, right in front of your precious Irishman. Savvy?”

Mark lowered his head and glared at the floor. _This isn’t good. He’ll probably try to manipulate Jack through me to get what he wants. There’s nothing I can do either. If I try anything, he’ll kill me. And I’m no good to Jack dead._

The detective nodded slowly. X smirked and Mark heard him shift further away.

“Wonderful. Let’s begin, shall we?”

X snapped his fingers, and across the room Daryl jerked Jack to his feet. Jack yelped and weakly clawed at Daryl’s fingers clasped around his arm, yet Daryl only growled and shook him, making Jack instantly stop fighting.

_He’s so weak,_ Mark thought. _It’s like they’ve destroyed his spirit._

Daryl dragged Jack over to the office chair and threw him on it. Jack barely had enough time to right himself before Daryl was behind him, gripping his shoulders to keep him pinned to his seat.

Jack trembled and stared at the floor. His pale frame shivered, and Mark took note of how his ribs were slightly visible.

The detective bit his lip and took a deep breath. Behind him X chuckled quietly and nudged the back of Mark’s head with the gun.

“Go on, talk to him.”

Mark steeled himself for what he was about to do. He cleared his throat and let out a sharp breath. _Here goes nothing…_

“...Jack.”


	20. Chapter 20

Every fiber of Jack’s being froze. His eyes widened as that single word uttered by that oh-so-familiar voice echoed throughout his skull.

He lifted his head slowly, every muscle screaming at him in protest. Yet he ignored the aching pain and focused on that voice.

_N-No, it couldn’t be… He’s supposed to be dead…_

Jack lifted his gaze and gasped. His blue eyes filled with tears as he caught sight of the familiar detective across the room. Relief and a whole lot of other emotions exploded within him.

“Mark…,” he breathed, his voice choked up with tears.

The detective smiled softly at him. “Hey Jack.”

Jack blinked in disbelief and shook his head, tears running down his face. “I-I thought you were dead. How… how did you get away?”

Mark chuckled and scratched his arm. “I just ran. I wasn’t near as banged up as you were.”

Not knowing how to respond, Jack nodded and dropped his gaze to the floor. His mind was still reeling from shock. _It’s him, it’s really him…_

“I-I thought you’d been killed,” he whispered. “I all but gave up on any chance of escaping.”

“…God I’m so sorry Jack,” Mark responded.

Jack noticed how Mark’s voice was tight, as if he were about to cry. The Irishman lifted his head and gazed into Mark’s face.

“So I guess they got you too huh?” He sniffled and nodded towards the chair Mark was seated in. He did find it rather strange that Mark didn’t seem to be restrained at all. Yet he brushed that thought aside and kept his gaze on the detective.

 

Mark tensed. _God here we go..._ Behind him X chuckled quietly.

“Let the game begin.” He then nudged Mark’s head with the gun. “Repeat everything I say if you want to live.”

Mark stayed still as X began to whisper words behind him. Once X was finished speaking, Mark let his words sink in.

_My god… He’s serious about this. Jack please forgive me…_

 

The detective cleared his throat and shook his head. “N-No they didn’t capture me. I came here on my own accord.” Those words felt like bile rolling off his tongue.

 

Across the room Jack furrowed his brow in confusion. “On your own accord? Then, does that mean you’re here to bargain with them? For my release?”

 

Mark held back a growl of frustration as X began to whisper to him again. “No, Jack, I’m not here to bargain. Nor am I here to… rescue you…”

 

Jack’s tears almost instantly dried up at those words. His heart slammed in his chest as he stared at Mark. _He’s… He’s not here to save me?_

“W-What? Why?”

Mark looked at the floor before looking back up at him. “I came here to tell them everything. To clear my name. I gave them the information they wanted to know in exchange for my safety.”

Anger and disbelief bubbled up within Jack, and he gritted his teeth. “You… You gave them what they wanted? To save your own skin?”

The detective hesitated, then nodded. His face was set in a neutral expression, yet Jack could see that his eyes held regret.

Jack blinked furiously, trying to hold back fresh tears. His wounds were forgotten for a moment, and he glared at Mark.

“Why? Why would you do that? You knew I was here!” Jack couldn’t help it as his emotions got the better of him and he raised his voice. “You knew I needed you! I prayed, I hoped, I wished with all my might every second of the day, that you’d come bursting through the door, and haul my ass outta here, even though I told myself over and over again that you were dead!” Jack bit his lip and shook his head. “Why? Why did you do it Mark?”

 

Mark couldn’t help the guilt and regret that gnawed at his conscious. He hadn’t even done any of those things, willingly anyway, and yet he was feeling all the shame in the world for it. Jack’s voice was trembling, and Mark could see the buildup of tears in those blue eyes. He waited for X to give him his next set of lines.

_Please… Please let it be over soon. I don’t think I can do much more of this. Jack can’t take much more of this._

Behind him X chuckled. “It’s a shame you had to get yourself in this position Detective,” he whispered. “After today, Jack might not trust you ever again. Let’s respond, shall we?” He then muttered the next few phrases to the detective.

Mark’s eyes widened once X was finished. _No. I can’t say that. It’ll break him!_

The gun against his skull bit warningly into his skin, and Mark winced. _No, no I can’t say it!_ Again the gun twisted against his head. _Fuck… Jack, I’m sorry._

 

Jack glared at Mark, his breath rattling in his chest. Mark gazed back at him, a slightly sympathetic look on his face. The detective then licked his lips and shifted in his seat.

“I didn’t bargain for your release… because you don’t… you aren’t worth saving.”

Jack’s heart just about stopped.

His eyes widened, and he blinked rapidly in disbelief. “W-What?”

Mark looked at the floor, his nails biting into the arms of his chair. “You aren’t worthy of being saved. You deserve to be stuck here. Betraying your friends, the people who you came to call family, and lying to all of them, earns you a fate worth then this.”

Mark looked back up at him. “You’re weak, and emotional. All this time you’ve been relying on someone else, you can’t stick up for yourself. You even had to kidnap me in order to help you. You’re just a pathetic child. I won’t save you Jack, no one will. It’s best if you just give up.”

_No, don’t give up! Keep fighting Jack, please!_

 

Jack just stared at him for a moment, before he lowered his gaze to the floor. “You… You don’t mean that. This isn’t you. What’s making you say this?” He brought his eyes back up to meet Mark’s.

Mark glanced to the side, trying to signal to Jack that X was behind him. _Come on Jack, see him. Put two and two together!_

Yet Jack only gaped at him. “Mark, you don’t mean that. Please… please,” his voice cracked and he bit his lip as fresh tears spilled from his eyes. “Please, you can’t mean that…”

 

Mark’s eyes widened slightly in shock. _He can’t see X, can he? I imagine his vision is messed up already, but with this god-awful lighting…_ The detective gritted his teeth. “Believe me Jack I-,” he was cut short by the gun nudging the back of his head, hard. Mark grimaced and closed his eyes.

_I’ve gotta do this,_ he thought painfully. _If I say these things, I can get out of here, and in turn, find a way to get Jack out too._ He opened his eyes and met Jack’s broken gaze.

“Believe me, I mean it. Every word. You’re nothing but weak and pathetic. You can’t do anything right, and everyone is always irritated by your presence. You’re loud, obnoxious, and immature. They should have put you down, like a crippled dog, the minute you got here.”

 

Mark’s voice had suddenly gotten louder, and Jack could almost feel the spite and hate in his words. A small sob escaped the Irishman and he shook his head, tears flowing freely down his face.

“N-No, stop it. Y-You don’t-”

“Yes, I do!”

Jack flinched as Mark yelled. He immediately cast his gaze down to the floor and sat there, trembling under Daryl’s grip.

At this Daryl chuckled. “My, you’ve gotten quite nasty Detective. Perhaps you should tone it down a bit.”

Mark knew Daryl was referring to X, yet X only chuckled. “Speak your mind, Detective,” X whispered. “He’ll think it’s me, so you’re free to say whatever you please.”

 

The temptation to do so was immense. Mark bit back the volley of belittling comments he had planned for Daryl and steeled himself. It would probably be best if he held his tongue. The angrier he got Daryl, the more likely Jack would be at the receiving end of the brute’s fury.

When he said and did nothing, X chuckled.

“Smart move. Now, let’s deliver the final blow, shall we?”

Mark tensed. _God when will it be over?_

 

_He… He’s right._

Jack blinked as he stared at the floor, his vision blurry with tears. _Mark’s right,_ he thought, _I am weak. That’s all I’ve ever been. That’s why Cry and Felix gave up on me. Why I left home, and why I became a criminal._

Jack squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. To hear those words from anybody would have hurt, but coming from Mark, the one man who could have saved him, it was shattering. Mark wasn’t here to save him. He was only here to clear his name, give X what he wanted, and leave. The detective probably only wanted to see him so that he could laugh in his face and tell him how pathetic he was.

A small whimper escaped him as he started to sob again. He heard Daryl snicker behind him, a small chill skittered down his spine. Jack then felt Daryl’s hot breath on his ear as the brute bent down to Jack’s level.

“Y’know, it seems to me like your last chance at freedom is being rather hateful. Perhaps it would be easier to just give in. Things will be a lot less painful if you do.”

Jack trembled as he rolled Daryl’s words around in his head. _He’s probably telling the truth. Giving in would be easier, and if I cooperated, the torture and beatings would most likely stop._ Yet giving in meant giving up on Mark, on his own dignity.

He drew in a sharp breath. “N-No. I’ll never give in. Not now not ever.”

 

Across the room Jack heard Mark smirk. “That’s noble of you,” Mark said, his voice low and demeaning. Jack glanced at him and shook his head.

“M-Mark, please, I know this isn’t you. Granted I haven’t known you for very long, but I know you wouldn’t do something like this. Please Mark,” Jack bit his lip and gazed into Mark’s eyes, silently begging him to come to his senses. “Please don’t leave me here.”

 

Internally Mark was screaming. He wanted to rush to Jack and throw his arms around him, tell him everything was going to be okay, and then leave this god-awful place. Yet all he could do was sit there, smirking painfully as X had instructed him to do.

The latter sighed contently. “Alright, I believe that will be the end of our game. Get up slowly.”

Mark did as he was told and hesitantly pushed himself up from the chair. His eyes never left Jack’s.

Once he stood at his full height, X gave him another phrase to say. “And say it with plenty of emotion,” he hissed.

Mark swallowed the lump in his throat and gazed at Jack. Those big blues were staring at him, searching, pleading. The detective felt his chest start to burn as he started to speak.

“This _is_ me, Jack,” he started, his voice low and strong. “From the very beginning I was using you, trying to squeeze as much information out of you as I could. In the end you proved somewhat useful.”

Jack’s eyes widened and he shook his head slightly. “N-No that’s-”

“Yet overall you were useless. All you did was cause trouble for me, from the moment I laid eyes on you. And now I’m free of my burden.”

“Good,” X hissed. “Now turn and walk towards the door.”

Mark did just that. He turned sharply on his heel and walked towards the door.

 

Jack struggled underneath Daryl’s grip. “W-Wait, Mark! You can’t leave me here! Mark please!” A desperate sob passed his lips as he tried to escape. “Mark!”

Daryl growled angrily and clenched his fingers into Jack’s shoulders.

“Gah!” Jack cried out and dropped his head, his good hand reaching up to claw at Daryl’s right hand. _“M-Mark please!”_

_No. No he can’t leave me here. He just can’t…_

Yet it looked like Mark was going to.

 

Mark flinched at the loud pleas Jack was producing. They broke his heart with each step he took.

X chuckled from within the darkness. “Now say goodbye Fischbach. And make it sound like you mean it. This will be the last time you ever see him.”

Mark froze. _What?!_ He whipped his head to the side and glared at X, unable to see him in the darkness. “You said I’d get him back.”

X chuckled darkly. “Hm, well, I guess I changed my mind.” Mark saw the glare reflecting off the gun in X’s hands and he growled. X scoffed. “Please. As if you didn’t see this coming. Now say goodbye, or lose your head.”

The detective bit his lip and looked back at Jack. The Irishman was staring after him, tears streaming down his face.

“I-I’m sorry Jack, but… this… this is goodbye.”

And with that Mark lowered his head and walked stiffly towards the door. He opened it, revealing a wall of darkness, and stepped through. He felt X move in behind him and shut the door.

Mark dropped his head in shame, and couldn’t stop the few tears that escaped his eyes.

 

_Jack… please forgive me…_


	21. Chapter 21

Mark kept his head down and squeezed his eyes shut. What he’d just done hurt worse than anything he’d ever done before. It hurt even more when he heard Jack from within the room. He was screaming, screaming for him. Mark winced as he heard the sound of a heavy blow, and then something crashing to the floor. Then there was silence. _Daryl probably made him hush up…_

The detective then heard X chuckle in the solid darkness.

“That was most impressive Detective. I figured it would be much harder for you to say such things. Perhaps some of them were true.” He snickered and started to walk away.

Mark did nothing as X’s footsteps receded, and then vanished.

_I… I really said those things to him, didn’t I?_

Mark bit his lip and lifted his head. _I didn’t mean any of them though. They were all X. I just hope he trusts me when it comes time for him to go with me._

Suddenly there were strong grips on both his arms. Mark jerked and immediately struggled.

“H-Hey! Get off- Mph!”

His words were cut off by something sticky being slapped across his mouth. Duct tape, he thought. Mark struggled against the grips on his arms and kicked out. He only hit air.

Then suddenly something collided with the side of his head, hard. Mark grunted in pain and his head jerked to the side. He then started to fade out of consciousness. Mark struggled against his captors weakly as his knees gave out. _I wonder what they’ll do to me,_ he thought as he slipped into darkness.

The detective slumped forward and his head fell to the side. His captors grunted as they supported his full weight and started dragging him away, down the dark hallway. They carried him through a door on the left and disappeared.

 

 

Jack trembled as he pushed himself up weakly on his good hand. After he had started wailing for Mark to come back, Daryl had punched him in the back of the head. He’d fallen from the chair to the floor. Jack knew Daryl did it to shut him up. 

The Irishman couldn’t help it as tears streamed down his face. He sat up on his knees and wiped a sleeve across his mouth, wiping away tears.

It hurt to move. His ribs were certainly bruised, and a few broken. His legs ached, and his right arm was painfully numb. There was a constant dull throb in his head, and his neck was sore. The ever-present bite of the shock collar made him shudder. Jack reached up to adjust it into a different spot, trying to ease his throat.

Apparently Daryl didn’t like that. He removed the remote from his pocket, unbeknownst to Jack, and cranked it to its highest setting. He then mashed the button, glaring hotly at Jack.

“Gaaanngh!” Jack convulsed and curled in on himself, falling stiffly onto his side. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. Daryl didn’t let up until Jack looked like he would pass out.

The Irishman gasped as the shock ceased, and he couldn’t help the fresh wave of tears that streamed from his eyes. He trembled and tried to sit up again.

“So,” Daryl started, turning the chair around and sitting down, his legs straddling the back of the chair. “How should we do this Sean? I ask questions and you answer them? Or should you just tell me everything while I listen and shock you if you don’t talk?” 

The Irishman looked over at him wearily, a slightly confused look on his face. He sniffled and wiped away a few tears. “W-What are you talking about? There’s n-nothing for me to tell you…”

Daryl snorted and stood up. Jack flinched and scooted away a few inches. The brute strode over to the Irishman and snatched his arm. Jack winced.

“There’s plenty for you to tell us,” Daryl growled as he jerked him to his feet. Jack yelped and tried to pull away, but he was far too weak. Daryl glared into his face and smirked. “You need to tell us exactly what you told that detective, and Daithi. X is good, but not that good. He didn’t catch all of what you spilled to Fischbach. Daithi was a bit different. He wouldn’t pour out his guts when he questioned him.”

He chuckled as Jack’s eyes widened. “D-Daithi, he… you questioned him?” The Irishman shuddered as dread creeped into his stomach.

“Yep. Nasty bugger wouldn’t say a word. Cry couldn’t even do anything with him,” Daryl smirked. “So I put a bullet in him.”

Jack froze. _Daithi… Daithi’s dead?_

He lowered his gaze to the floor and just stared. _Oh god, and it’s my fault. If I hadn’t gone to him for help, he’d still be alive._ Then something clicked within him.

_Mark was right. I can’t take care of myself. I went to Daithi for help, and now he’s dead. All because of me. Mark was right…_

It was like something in him shattered. His world came crashing down on him, and he couldn’t help it as he started to hyperventilate. _Panic attack,_ he thought. Jack felt himself sway on his feet, and he reached out, trying to anchor himself. His hand fisted in Daryl’s shirt, and he struggled to stay upright as his head began to swim.

_I’m weak, just like he said. Daithi’s dead because of me, and Mark’s abandoned me. I’m really not worth saving at all…_

As he stared at the floor, wheezing and swaying, Daryl took a step back, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with you? Snap out of it!”

When Jack made no move to do so, Daryl growled and shoved him away. Jack lost his balance and tumbled to the floor. His head collided with the concrete with a solid _thunk!_

Jack lost consciousness immediately, and he stilled. His breathing evened out, yet it was shallow.

Daryl snorted and went over to him. He picked up the limp Irishman and threw him over his shoulder. “What a pain the ass you turned out to be,” he muttered. The brute turned sharply on his heel and left the room.

As he shut the door, he shifted his grip on Jack. “Perhaps it would be best if we take our sessions to the next level. I think that will be the final breaking point.” He chuckled and made his way down the dark hall. “I’ll have Nate look him over first. Then I can get down and dirty.” Daryl smirked. _This is should be fun._

He stopped and turned to the right. He reached for a door he knew was there and opened it. Stepping through, Daryl couldn’t help but chuckle again. “Prepare yourself Sean,” he mumbled. He then shut the door and disappeared.

 

Mark jerked up, his eyes wide and breaths labored. The world around him was moving, and he felt unsteady. For a moment he was stricken with fear and the need to escape. Yet after he realized that no one was trying to kill him at the moment, he relaxed.

It was dark outside, and he was in the backseat of a moving taxi. Mark looked around and recognized his neighborhood. He glanced at the clock on the dash. It read 8:53. Confused, Mark peeked at the driver. The guy looked like a normal taxi driver.

As Mark was staring at him, the driver glanced in the rear-view mirror. He chuckled as he saw Mark’s face.

“So you’re awake then? How y'feeling?”

Mark shook his head and looked around. “Fine I guess. What happened?”

The driver laughed. “Your buddies dumped you here. Said you had a rough day at the office and got yourself wasted. Got in a couple fights too apparently.” He pointed to his own temple, and Mark quickly touched his own head. He winced as his fingers brushed across a small cut, and his fingertips came away red.

Again the driver chuckled. “I’m surprised you woke up so soon. You were out cold when they threw you in here.”

Mark grumbled as he thought back on how he’d been knocked out in the hall after leaving Jack. “Yeah, me too.”

The driver shook his head. “Well, we’re here mister.” He slowed the taxi and pulled over to the curb. Mark peeked out the window as saw it was his apartment building.

_It’s fucking scary that they know my address…_ Moving was something he was seriously considering at the moment.

Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. The driver shook his head and waved his hand. “No need mister. Your buddies paid already.”

The detective looked up at him, surprised. “Did they now?”

“Yep. Tip too.”

Mark shook his head. “Well here.” He handed the guy a ten. “Take this, as an apology.”

The driver took the bill and shoved it in his pocket. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Mark opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. He thanked the guy before shutting the door. The taxi pulled away from the curb and sped down the street, it’s taillights glowing in the semi-darkness.

 

Mark watched it disappear before he turned and looked up at his building. He searched his pockets until he found his keys. He also discovered that his phone was present. _I wonder…_ Mark reached for his waistband and found his gun, safely nestled in his jeans.

_They gave me all my stuff back. And they sent me home._ Mark furrowed his brow as he walked towards the building. _They didn’t kill me. I thought for sure they would._

 

Mark made it up to his apartment with ease, and when he opened the door he was pleasantly surprised.

He’d expected the place to be trashed, since those three thugs had broken in and abducted him. Yet the place was spotless, just as he had left it.

His room though, was a different story.

Upon opening the door he saw the chair he’d used to block the brutes from entering. It was flipped over and on the other side of the room. As Mark walked further into the room, he noticed there were a few bloodstains on the carpet. _I’ll clean those tomorrow,_ he thought. He also noticed how his bed was disheveled. It had been made when he “left”. There was also a small dent in the wall where one guy crashed into it.

Mark bent down and picked up the book that had caused him to lose the fight. It was a hardcover book, titled _Hard Headed._

_Of fucking course._

Mark tossed the book onto the bed and left the room, closing the door behind him. With a sigh he flopped down on the couch and stared at the ceiling in the dark. He didn’t bother to turn any lights on.

As he lay there, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Mark drew the device from his jeans and unlocked it, the bright light flooding his face and casting long shadows.

It was a text, from an unknown number.

**X thanks you for cooperation. For now sit tight and await instructions. If you go to the police or even hint at telling anyone, you will pay the price.**

Mark stared at the text for a while, reading the words over and over again. _So Jack’s not a bargaining chip anymore,_ he thought. _They must think I’ll worry about myself more than him…_ He tapped the text box and typed out a short reply. 

**I understand,** it read. He sent it, and waited for a reply.

After about five minutes and no reply, Mark tossed his phone on the coffee table and sighed. He draped an arm over his eyes.

_I can’t get Jack out of my head. Those things I said to him, the condition he was in, how he acted when I left…_ He groaned and clenched his fists. _They’ll kill him. Once they get whatever information he has, they_ will _kill him. It’s guaranteed._ Mark’s blood boiled and his stomach churned at the thought. 

Mark suddenly checked himself. Why the hell was he feeling the way he was? Why was he acting so protective of the Irishman? Mark felt almost responsible for the man. He hadn’t known Jack for very long. The guy was the reason he was in this mess. Yet there was something about the Irishman, something that drew Mark to him. Was it his laugh, or his eyes? Maybe his hair? Perhaps it was the way he walked, how he acted, and how overall he was a kind person. 

Mark bit his lip. 

_…Was he falling in love with him?_


	22. Chapter 22

Three days.

For three days Mark sat in his apartment, waiting for some sort of signal from X and his men. Three days he paced back and forth, constantly checking his phone, willing it to buzz in his hand. He barely slept. He hardly ate. Yet there was nothing. No texts, no mysterious phone calls, no weirdos staked in front of his building. Not even Ken had come by to see him, much less contact him. 

All was quiet, and it scared the hell of him.

 

Mark slumped down in a chair in the kitchen and hid his face in his hands. A low groan escaped him. _Where are they? Have they given up? Did they find what they were looking for? I wonder if they’ve killed Jack yet..._

The detective growled and pushed himself away from the chair. _Enough Fischbach. Relax. I’m sure there’s an explanation for all this. They’re probably waiting it out, making you nervous on purpose. They want you to go to the police so that they have a reason to kill you._ Mark bit his lip and looked at the calendar hanging by the door.

This whole thing had started almost two weeks ago, when Jack had been brought to the station. Never in a million years did he think it would turn out like this, with him being blackmailed by thugs so that he could rescue a nicer thug.

_Apparently Jack’s more than a nice thug to you._

Mark nearly slapped himself.

_I can’t think like that. If I really have developed feelings for him, I can’t let them get in the way of my reasoning. No knight in shining armor technique is going to work on these guys. I have to keep myself in check, get Jack to safety first, then confront him about this. If he feels the same way, great. If not, oh well. It’s not like I haven’t been rejected before._

Mark took a deep breath and went into his bedroom. The nice thing about having three days to himself was that he had plenty of time to come up with a plan. He had gone over every detail, every possibility of what could happen, and he felt prepared. The only thing he needed to kick of this genius plan (it really wasn’t all that genius) was intel. If he could find someone who worked on the inside of X’s squad of goons, he could get the information he needed and then set out to find Jack.

_The only problem is finding one who is willing to cooperate,_ Mark thought as he slid on a bulletproof vest over his T-shirt. _I can only do so much with a gun before killing the guy becomes a reality._

He finished changing and slid his gun belt around his waist. Once it was tightened and fully loaded with ammunition and his gun, he adjusted his flannel to hide it. _I need to go to the shops in the area I first went to. There I can hopefully find a guy I recognize and try to get some intel from him._

Turning towards his dresser, he caught sight of the group of orange pill bottles that sat there. The menacing little army of drugs seemed to stare him down. Mark sighed and walked over to them. Picking one of the bottles up, he popped the cap off and dumped two pills into his palm. He threw them back fast, swallowing them dry.

_God I hate taking pills._

They were all for his wounds of course, which were all healing nicely and hardly hurt. His back was hardly even noticeable, and his leg was almost completely healed. The knife wound in his side still ached time to time, and he had taken the stitches out himself yesterday. It was a little early, but they were annoying and he wanted them gone.

Once Mark had finished with his daily dose of drugs, he left the room and looked around. He wouldn’t be coming back here for a couple of days. Not if everything went as planned. The detective went back into the kitchen and opened one of the drawers. He pulled out a notepad and pen, and began scribbling a note. Once that was done, he tore the page from the pad and folded it neatly.

Mark then left his apartment, tucking the note in the door, so that if anyone opened it, the note would fall right in front of them. With that he locked the door and hurried down the stairs, his eyes hard and mind focused. Today was the day he would save Jack and bring X to justice. Today was the day he got the truth.

With a self-assuring nod, he left the building and walked down the sidewalk, heading towards downtown.

 

He stopped for lunch at a hotdog stand and ate as he walked. He tried to avoid police cars, and steered clear of normal hang outs for the people on duty. No one really took note of him as he walked, and for that he was grateful.

Mark managed to wave down a cab and it took him the rest of the way. Once they were close to the abandoned hospital Mark told the driver to stop. He paid the man and went on his way.

There were a few shops in the area, most of them pawn shops or odd trinket places. Yet as he walked, looking through the store windows and studying the people he passed, he knew that this was as good a place as any to find what he needed.

He purchased a black baseball cap, as he had lost his own, and sat down on a bench, his head down and buried in his phone. He hoped no one would recognize him. With any luck, he’d see someone he recognized from the gang and no one would be suspicious of him.

 

Surprisingly it didn't take long. After about thirty minutes, a scrawny man with a balding scalp scurried by, a phone pressed to his ear. He was carrying a plastic bag full of used tech gear. As he passed the detective, Mark caught some of what he was telling the other person on the other end of the phone.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I heard they got him on a pretty tight lockdown. My thinkin’ is that Daryl’ll kill him before they get anythin’ from ‘im.” 

 

_Bingo._

Mark eyed him as he walked past. After the man was a few feet away, Mark rose to his feet and started following him. The man continued to talk on the phone for about another minute before he hung up and slid the phone in his pocket. It was then he glanced behind him to see Mark walking behind him and off to the side.

The bill of the hat kept Mark’s face hidden, and he was a good twenty feet away, yet he could feel the suspicion in the man’s gaze. He heard the man pick up his pace, and Mark did the same.

 

This went on for a few blocks, with the man constantly throwing a glance over his shoulder while Mark tailed him. It wasn’t until they rounded the corner of a busy street that the man did something about it.

 

The man abruptly took off at a sprint, dropping his bag of tech and shoving a few people out of his way. Mark smirked and took off after him, his arms pumping at his sides.

They ran down the sidewalk, the man shoving people out of the way and unwillingly clearing a path for the pursuing detective. The man frantically glanced over his shoulder and saw Mark gaining on him. Mark could see the fear in his eyes. “Skippy” then tried to lose Mark in a crowd of people waiting to board a bus. He slipped into the crowd, and then slunk around the front of the bus, attempting to cross the street and sneak away.

Yet Mark was a step ahead of him. He hopped off the sidewalk and into the street, staying close to the side of the bus. The man saw him as he stepped out from in front of the bus, and he yelped, obviously startled. "Skippy" then booked it across the street, dangerously dodging cars and spinning out of the way clumsily.

Mark ran after him, holding up a hand to the cars who slammed on their brakes and blared their horns at him. Yet he made it onto the sidewalk without incident, and continued to chase the suspicious character.

As the man tried to round another corner, Mark managed to snatched the collar of his jumper. He practically threw the man into the alley right next to them, and pinned him against the bricks. Mark then pressed a muscled forearm hard against his throat.

 

The man gasped for air and scrabbled at Mark’s arm. “P-Please,” he wheezed desperately, “Don’t kill me! I-I don’t know anything! You’re Fischbach, r-right?! The detective everyone’s been talking about?”

Mark reached for his gun and flicked the safety off before pressing the barrel against the side of the guy’s head. The man cringed and yelped. Yet it was just for show. The chamber was empty; the gun wasn't loaded.

“Shut up for a second. I’ll ask the questions.”

“I-I swear, I don’t know anything!”

Mark growled and pressed his arm harder against the man’s neck. “Shut up! I know you know of Daryl. If you know him that means you know what I need to know. Comprende?”

The man hesitated before nodding in defeat.

Mark glared into the guy’s face. “Sean McLoughlin. Where are they keeping him?”

“A-At the sister location. That’s where- Aah! Okay, okay!” He yelled as Mark increased his force on the man’s throat. “The old opera house. On the other side of town. T-That’s the sister location. McLoughlin should be there.”

The detective searched the man’s face. “You better be sure about that.”

The man nodded quickly. “Yeah,” he panted. “That’s where they send all the traitors.”

Mark gave him a suspicious glance. “What about X? Where’s he?”

“Last I heard was that he was still there. I-I think he wanted to oversee the final procedure.”

“Procedure? What are you talking about?” Mark pressed the gun painfully against the man’s skull. “Tell me.”

“Ah okay! Okay!” The guy raised his hands and dropped his gaze to the filthy ground. “The… The procedure is to try and undermine the authority in the city. Everything up to this point has been in preparation for the final cue.”

“Authority? As in the police?”

“Yes. And other government officials. That is X’s goal. To start a rebellion. Anarchy.”

Mark smirked. “My, aren't you just a little weasel? I can’t imagine what X will to do you once he realizes what you’ve told me.”

The man shot him a nervous glance. Then a small, frightened smile washed over his face.

“He’ll never know of my betrayal.”

 

Suddenly the man lashed out with his foot, catching Mark in the knee. Mark gasped in pain and backed away on reflex. The man immediately bolted out of the alley and into the street. He stumbled and then turned back to Mark, who still stood in the alley.

The man stretched his arms out at his sides and laughed. “X cannot be stopped! No matter what you do you will be too late! The Revolution is here!” Again he laughed, an almost maniacal sound.

And then he was hit by a bus.

 

Mark flinched and stumbled backwards in shock as the 12 ton mass of metal plowed into the cackling man. All the detective really saw was a blur of blue and grey, which seemed to swallow the man whole. Several people down the street screamed, and the bus slammed on its brakes, squealing and hissing as it went. And then it was quiet. 

Mark hesitantly dared to peek out from the alley.

He saw nothing but a smear of blood on the pavement. The bus hid the rest of the body, or what was left of it.

Mark swallowed the sudden urge to vomit and quickly tucked his gun back in its holster. He then turned sharply and made his way around the corner, getting away from the scene as fast as possible. The detective shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his head down.

A slight case of shock had settled into his system, yet there was still one thing blazing at the forefront of his mind...

The old opera house. That’s where Jack was. It had to be true. The man wouldn’t have willingly kissed a bus going 55 miles per hour if it wasn’t.

 

Mark hunched his shoulders and set a course for the center of the city. He needed a taxi. A bus would be a quicker route from here, but something told him he was going to be avoiding buses for a while.

A long while.


	23. Chapter 23

_Everything… Everything hurts…_

Jack groaned. He tried to open his eyes. As they peeled open a crack, he saw a blur of pale brown.

_Where am I?_ Jack struggled to open his eyes further, and he attempted to lift his head. Yet he found he couldn’t move it. It was like there was a large weight on his forehead, preventing him from moving his head.

Slightly panicked, the Irishman jerked his head to the side. It moved just fine. He moved his head to the other side, this time a bit slower. His cheek came in contact with something soft. Jack flinched.

_What in the hell?_

He moved his arms, found them unrestrained, and covered with something cool and soft. Mightily confused, Jack forced his eyes open and looked around.

He was in a poorly lit room, and lying on a plush bed.

Jack blinked and studied the place. The walls were a dark brown, and the ceiling a pale tan. Glancing at the floor he saw that it was coated in dark blue carpet. There were no windows and only one door. The only thing giving light to the room was a weak and obviously dying lamp in the corner.

_...Oookay._

The Irishman than looked to himself. He gingerly pushed back the sheet with his good arm and sat up, studying himself, wincing as his sore ribs complained.

He was clothed in a fresh T-shirt and dark jeans. These clothes obviously weren’t his own, but they were a nice change to the blood-stiffened jeans and no shirt. He was also barefoot.

His right arm was bandaged and in a neat sling, and there was only a small throb pulsating from the limb. As Jack moved to touch the wrapping, he felt a bit of constriction around his abdomen. He tentatively lifted his shirt.

Jack’s torso was completely wrapped with bandages. They started just underneath his arms and went all the way down to his hips. A few wraps were over his shoulders, no doubt an attempt to keep the bandages from rolling down his chest.

Curious, Jack reached up and touched his face. Several band-aids were on his cheeks and he felt another bandage wrapped tightly around his head.

_Nate must have been here. He must have given me a bunch of painkillers as well._

Jack allowed a small smile to crack upon his face as he fingered his shirt. _I’ll have to be sure to thank him once I get the chance. He’s been the only person I could trust through this whole endeavor._

At that Jack winced as the image of a certain detective invaded his mind. "Mark…"

Hot tears suddenly burned his eyes, and Jack squeezed them shut, fighting back the tears.

 

He didn’t hate the detective. There was no way he could. The guy had helped him in several ways, and Jack was grateful. But… there was still the whole fact of Mark’s self-centered act. Jack didn’t blame him though. He’d been right, he’d hit every nail on the head when he’d been accusing Jack.

He _was_ weak.

He _was_ dependent on other people.

He _was_ annoying.

Jack bit his lip and dropped his head. _Stop it stop it stop it! Get a grip! You have to try and get out of here. With your luck, Daryl will be here any minute. Focus on getting out of here alive, then worry about Mark. Hell, you might never see him again._

Taking a deep breath Jack swung his legs over the bed and forced himself to stand up. Vertigo immediately washed over him, and he pressed a hand to his forehead trying to balance himself. Once the black spots in his vision faded and the world stopped spinning, he reached out to steady himself on the wall.

_Alright, first things first._

He quickly checked himself for any devices. There were no trackers or shock collars of any kind on his person anywhere. A sigh of relief escaped him. “Thank god,” he muttered.

Jack then walked gingerly over to the door. He was still a little unstable, but he made it without incident.

Upon reaching the door, he pressed his ear against it and listened. All seemed to be quiet on the other side. Biting his lip, Jack gripped the handle and tried it. It turned smoothly and the door opened with a soft click.

Immediately Jack’s stomach began to churn and alarms went off in his head. _That was way too easy. It shouldn’t have been that easy!_

Yet he opened the door further and took a wary step through.

Before him was a long hallway. The floor was a dark wood, with a long red rug running from one end to the other. Mounted on the walls were oil lamps with reflectors, giving the hall a solemn and somewhat creepy atmosphere. There were about six other doors from what Jack could tell, and there were no windows.

“This is a little creepy…”

Jack took another step into the hall. On his left was a dead end, and on his right, the hall went on for quite a ways. It was too dark for Jack to see the end. He took a deep breath and crept fully into the hall. The Irishman cast a quick glance to the room he had just been in. It looked mighty inviting compared to the hall.

Swallowing hard, Jack looked to the ominous darkness ahead of him. Steeling his nerves, he started to make his way towards it, trying to ignore the crusty feeling of the rug under his bare feet. 

_I have to get out of here. If I can escape, then I can hopefully turn myself in and tell the police everything I know. That way these bastards get what they deserve._

At these thoughts Jack picked up his pace a little.

He was done. He wanted out. There was no way he could go on being a criminal any longer. Not after what they’d done to him, and especially not after they killed Daithi. Jack wanted to see X and Daryl brought to justice, them and anyone else to was involved. It didn’t matter if he himself was put in prison for life. All that mattered was that those lunatics were put down.

Filled with sudden determination, Jack started to jog down the hallway, wincing with each step.

He was getting out of here.

 

By the time Mark reached the old opera house, it was about three in the afternoon. He stepped out of the taxi and closed the car door, watching the taxi drive off. Looking around, he was surprised yet also relieved at how few people there were. Even traffic seemed to be only a light trickle at the moment. He turned around and looked up at the building before him.

It was a completely square, the old opera house, with four stories. Numerous windows peered down at him, most of them boarded up. The ones that weren’t were adorned with thick drapes, all of them closed. Mark looked down to the door.

The marquee was broken and missing some pieces, yet a few stray letters were still present. The door itself was boarded up almost completely. Suspicious, Mark walked over to it and studied the wooden planks nailed across the double doors. Something didn’t look right. He reached out and turned the one handle that still remained.

Just as he suspected, the door groaned and opened. The planks had been finely cut, giving them the appearance that they were still untouched. With a smirk, Mark took his gun from his belt and loaded it. He then opened the door a bit further and slunk inside.

 

Mark was surprised to find the place well lit and otherwise untouched. The air smelled rather clean and like new furniture. Cautious, Mark walked forward, spinning slowly in a full circle as he examined the place.

He was in the front lobby. It was a spacious area, inhabited by a desk and several ticket boxes, which were all dusty and definitely unused. The walls were bare yet they showed no signs of abuse. The carpet, a rich red color, was clean and smelled new. _So that’s why this place smells like it does._

In Mark’s personal opinion, the place was too clean.

Suddenly the detective heard voices drifting from the hall on his right. Startled, he bolted for the nearest place of cover; the desk. The detective launched himself over the desk, sliding across its smooth surface before dropping behind it. A cloud of dust rained down on him, and he had to stifle the urge to cough. Mark slapped a hand over his mouth and waited.

The voices drew closer, and revealed they were males. Their footsteps were heavy and echoed throughout the spacious lobby. From what Mark could gather, there were two of them. Staying as still and quiet as possible, Mark easily heard what they were saying.

“... and then they beat the shit out of him.”

“I don’t doubt it. In my opinion, he deserved it. Betraying his friends like that, what a snitch.”

Mark tensed. Were they talking about Jack? The first man continued speaking as their footsteps got closer.

“Yeah. Did you see the one episode after that where he took all the souls instead of giving them to that demon?”

“Yeah! Didn’t he try to make it up to the guys with that?”

“Yeah yeah! ‘Cept it didn’t work of course ‘cuz he was still a dick.”

“Right, what an asshole.”

 

_...Oh. Guess not._

The men continued talking, and then Mark heard the door open, then close. The voices were then gone, and all was quiet.

Mark peeked over the desk and looked around. He was alone again.

Letting out a quick breath, he stood up and brushed the dust off his clothes. He took off his ball cap and shook it, curling a lip in disgust at all the dust that fell from it. After he set it back on his head, he looked at where the men had come from.

It was a long and wide hallway, with bare walls and numerous oil lamps mounted on them to light the way. Mark adjusted his gun and stepped out from behind the desk, waiting for someone else to pop out of the hall.

When no one did, he licked his lips and took a breath. With that, he readied his weapon and crept down the hall, his shadow flickering on the walls.

 

As Jack rounded another corner, he stopped and leaned heavily against the wall. He wiped his brow and let out a breath, sweat pouring down his face.

“This…,” he panted and let his head fall against the wall. “This sucks!”

 

He’d been jogging through this seemingly endless maze for about ten minutes, looking for any sort of exit or window, anything to get him someplace different. Yet all he found was the pain that had been medicinally reduced. His ribs were throbbing, his arm was killing him, and his head felt like it was going to explode.

Jack groaned and looked around. _This hall looks just like all the others._ He stared at one of the oil lamps and was momentarily mesmerized by the flickering flame inside.

_I wonder how long I was out,_ he thought randomly as he gazed into the tiny fire. _It didn’t seem very long, but I don’t even remember what happened. I have no idea how I passed out._

The Irishman quickly shook his head. _I can’t be worried about such things. I’ll find that out later._

With that notion he pushed away from the wall and started to stagger forward. 

After a few more minutes of walking down the same hall, he came to the end. Yet it didn’t end in a wall or locked door, but a staircase.

Jack peered over the railing and looked at the floor below. It was pitch black down there, and the spiraling stairs seemed to be a gruesome invitation. He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked around.

“Guess there’s only one place to go,” he muttered.

He gripped the railing and slowly lowered himself to the first step. His legs groaned, and the action caused him to grimace. Yet he forced himself to go to the next one, and then the next one. Soon he had a good rhythm going, and he made steady progress down the stairs.

Yet as he neared the bottom and it got harder to see, he got too excited. A quick step down caused his heel to slip, and with only one arm to catch himself, he fell.

Jack landed on his back hard and was unable to stop himself from rolling. He squeezed his eyes shut as his stomach flipped a millions times as he tumbled down the stairs. He hit nearly every wooden step, causing a racket that could have wakened the dead.

 

Just as he thought the fall would never end, he came to a stop as he landed on a soft surface. The world stopped spinning as he laid on his side. He lay there wheezing, trying to pull back the air he'd lost into his lungs. Once he did catch his breath he coughed violently. He groaned and cradled his broken arm with his now bruised one, his legs curling up to his chest as they cramped. Jack couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes through the pain, and he gritted his teeth as he willed the torture to end.

 

Suddenly Jack felt something touch his knee. Startled, but still in a great deal of pain, he jerked, and instantly regretted it. With a grunt he managed to crack open an eye to see what had just touched him.

Through the nearly solid darkness he could make out a large brown hiking boot, laced up tight. Tucked into those boots, were tan cargo pants. Jack’s eyes widened as they crawled up the pant leg to their owner’s face. A cold wave of fear washed over him at the sinister grin he saw peering down at him from the darkness.

_Daryl..._


	24. Chapter 24

Jack froze.

_Daryl… Oh my god, I’m dead. This is it. He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die. And I was so close too…_

Daryl chuckled, and Jack shuddered as the sound skittered down his spine.

“Hello _Seeaan,”_ Daryl purred. He took a step forward and Jack managed to inch away from him. “Where ya going? You weren’t leaving, were you?”

He reached down and easily snatched the front of Jack’s shirt. Jack yelped and tried to claw Daryl’s hand away, yet the brute only jerked on the material, hauling the prone Irishman into an upright position.

Jack grabbed Daryl’s wrist and continued to try and desperately make him let go. Daryl curled a lip in disapproval and bitch-slapped the Irishman hard across the mouth.

Blood instantly flooded Jack’s mouth as the inside of his cheek and lips were cut by his teeth. He choked and coughed violently, accidentally spraying bloody mist in Daryl’s face.

Daryl froze.

Jack, not realizing what he’d just done, tried to see past the tears in his eyes as he continued to claw at Daryl’s wrist.

“L-Let me go!” 

Then Daryl suddenly hauled Jack completely to his feet. Jack’s eyes widened as the ground vanished beneath him, and he was suddenly suspended in mid-air by the front of his shirt. He kicked out wildly, hitting nothing but air. And then Daryl’s voice, gravelly with anger, pierced the Irishman’s very soul with a spike of fear.

_“You’re dead, Irish boy.”_

Jack froze, and then panicked. “N-No!”

He kicked out again, this time nailing Daryl in the nuts.

“Graaah!” The brute dropped the Irishman as his hands went to hold his groin. He stumbled backwards and doubled over in pain, gritting his teeth and groaning. Jack crumbled to the floor. In an instant he was scrambling to his feet, and then he ran, not bothering to look over his shoulder.

The place was dark, but not dark enough that he couldn’t see the obstacles that stood in his path. Jack managed to dodge each pillar, table, and chair that jumped out at him. His whole body complained, saying he was too sore to be running. But he did anyway, adrenaline pumping through him and pushing him forward.

Yet with all the blood rushing in his ears, he couldn’t hear Daryl thundering up behind him.

A sudden and painful punch to the back of the head sent Jack reeling forward, and he crashed onto the floor. Before he had time to register what was going on, a massive hand was around the back of his neck. Meaty fingers dug into his skin, hitting all kinds of pressure points. The pain was crippling, and all Jack could do was freeze, and try to scream. He wailed as Daryl jerked him up to his feet, even though Jack could barely stand on his own.

“A-Aaaaahh-!”

His cries were cut off by another hand clamping over his mouth, making it hard to breath. Jack struggled and attempted to push the hand away, yet he was powerless against the enraged brute.

Daryl’s hot breath suddenly enveloped his ear, and Jack winced, struggling to get away from him.

“You’ve done it now,” Daryl snarled quietly. “X won’t have any mercy on you. Neither will I. You’ll be beaten beyond recognition!” He hissed his final words, and squeezed Jack’s neck.

“M-Mmph! Mm!” Jack shrieked against Daryl’s hand, fearing his neck might snap under the man’s grip. There was no doubt that those disgusting hands would leave fresh bruises on his pale and already-bruised skin.

Then Daryl kneed him in the back, causing him to stumble forward. Daryl moved with him, forcing the Irishman to start walking. “Step lively you pathetic twit. Or else I’ll drag you by the neck like the damn chicken you are.”

He tightened his grip on Jack’s neck, and Jack whimpered. With trembling steps he forced himself to walk, fearing what would happen if he didn’t.

_I… I’m doomed. They’re going to kill me. I failed. I couldn’t escape, not on my own. Mark was right. I am pathetic. And now I’m going to die…_

Jack shut his eyes as he felt hot tears start to form. _No! I can’t lose it! Not here, not with Daryl right there. I have to believe in myself, I have to trust that I can get out of here!_ He opened his eyes and glanced down at Daryl’s hand that was clamped over his mouth. It partially blocked his nose it was so big. Jack tried to stay calm and focus on getting as much air as he could.

_Just hang in there Jackaboy. You can get out of this. Hopefully…_

 

Mark ducked behind a small table as he heard more voices. Yet their owners turned into a room before they reached him. With a quick breath Mark stood up and kept going, his gun at the ready.

 

He was slinking through the numerous halls of the opera building, looking and listening for any sign or hint as to where Jack was. It was an exhausting task, with all the ducking and quick dodging he was doing. A thin sheen of sweat had started to form on his forehead, and his breath was slightly labored.

 

The detective wiped his brow and peeked around a corner. Just ahead was a trio of men. Two were rather small, short and thin, and the third was a pretty good sized brute. He was tall with a thick girth, some of which hung over his belt. This man, a blonde, waved the other two off, and they walked away, disappearing down the hall. Mark squinted to try and see the remaining guy better. The man then turned, revealing the right side of his face.

A thick, jagged scar ran along his jaw.

Mark’s eyes widened. _That’s Jim! He was there when Jack was abducted._ The detective had a small flashback to when they were T-boned, and Jim was the one who had tried to drag him away. _If there’s anyone who knows where Jack is, it’s this guy._

Mark readied his gun and waited. Jim pulled a phone out of his pocket and started to walk towards Mark, his nose buried in the device. Mark stepped back and held his breath. As Jim’s footsteps drew closer, Mark gripped his gun tight. Here we go.

Jim stepped around the corner. Not giving the guy a chance to react, Mark slammed the butt of his gun against Jim’s temple. The thug went down hard and didn’t move. His phone clattered across the floor.

For a moment Mark did nothing, he just stood there, staring at the man he’d just clocked out. He let out a sigh of relief and kneeled next to the guy. “Well that was easy.” The detective gripped Jim’s arm and attempted to lift him up.

 

Suddenly, one of Jim’s fists smashed into Mark’s face. The detective stumbled back, too stunned to cry out. His hands immediately went to his nose, which was gushing blood, and dropped his gun. He looked back at Jim with wide eyes.

The brute was stumbling to his feet, blood running down the side of his face from his temple. His hands were clenched into fists, and an angry snarl graced his scarred face. Ragged breaths rattled in his chest. 

“Heh, you’re that detective.” Jim sneered and wiped a hand across his mouth. “Fischbach, was it?” He snickered and stumbled forward, a maniacal gleam in his eye. A strangled giggle burst from Jim’s throat. “He said you’d come back! Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could ya? Had to come back for that Irish bitch of yours!” Jim roared and lunged at Mark. The detective barely dove out of the way.

_Holy fuck! He's insane!_

Jim crashed into the wall, leaving a decent hole in the plaster. He whirled to face Mark, who was scrambling to his feet. The thug snarled and charged, one fist raised and ready to break something.

Mark quickly spun out of his path and dove for his gun. He heard Jim turn and run at him. The detective snatched his weapon and rolled onto his back, just as Jim went to tackle him.

Mark grunted at the sudden weight on his chest as Jim planted a heavy knee in the center of it. Jim attempted to grab at Mark’s wrist to get the gun, yet Mark was quicker. He flicked the weapon to his other hand and pulled the trigger.

The deafening crack of the gun filled the hallway.

Jim groaned in pain and fell on his side, releasing Mark from his weight. Said detective immediately scrambled to his feet and used a sleeve to dab at his nose. The material came away bloody.

Mark then looked down at the man writhing on the floor.

The bullet had gone clean through Jim’s left shoulder. He was gripping it so hard that his knuckles were white. The red blood that seeped from between his fingers stood out in stark contrast against the strained flesh. 

_I never meant to shoot him,_ Mark thought as he took a few steps towards the thug. _It was only supposed to be for show, an act. But it’s probably for the best. He would have killed me otherwise._

Mark stood right next to the trembling body and cleared his throat. Jim glanced up at him, and newfound fury burned in his eyes.

“Go on, kill me,” he hissed. “I bet you want to. I’ve done plenty of things to deserve it. Like that night we took lil’ Jackiepoo from you!” He cackled and turned his head to look Mark fully in the eye. “He woke up in the car on the way back. Bastard didn’t even know it! He kept screamin’ for you, shrieking and wailing your name, begging for you to answer him. I hit him over the head pretty good for running his mouth. Daryl said he doesn’t even remember it!”

Jim snickered and kept his crazy gaze on Mark. Yet the detective didn’t flinch nor change his expression. He just glared unamused at the man on the floor.

Yet internally, he was screeching with joy and roaring with anger.

_Jack was worried about me! Perhaps he has feelings for me then? But then this sonofabitch! Ooh, I really should put another one in him._

But he did no such thing. Instead, he lifted a foot and slammed it onto Jim’s wounded shoulder.

The man shrieked, an unfitting pitch for a man of his size. He clawed at Mark’s foot, yet the detective only pressed down harder.

“Where is McLoughlin?”

Mark kept his tone calm and steady. Jim snarled and glared up at him. “Go to hell!”

The detective sighed and twisted his foot. Jim yelled, again trying to pry Mark’s foot away.

“Tell me,” Mark hissed. “And I’ll let you live.” He pointed the gun at Jim’s head.

Jim’s eyes squinted as he gritted his teeth. “Fine.” he snarled. “He’s in X’s office, the most ideal location for keeping an eye on him.” Jim chuckled darkly. “I wouldn’t have my hopes up though,” he hissed. “Heard Daryl worked him over pretty good, damn near killed him. I hear he can barely breathe he’s so weak.”

Mark furrowed his brow. “Shut up. Where’s the office?”

Jim snickered. “Top floor, room 412.”

The detective nodded. “Thanks.” He then turned the gun in his hands and bashed the butt against the side of Jim’s head once again. This time, he really did fall unconscious.

 

Mark managed to drag the heavy guy into a nearby room. He locked the door and broke the door knob, preventing anyone from getting in or out. _He’ll probably just ram through the door like a damn bull or something._ Mark then took Jim’s phone and tossed it out the window at the end of the hall. He watched it crash to the ground and break into several pieces.

_There. Now he can’t be making any calls._

With that complete, Mark turned back into the building and took off at a sprint. His nosebleed had stopped, and he managed to get most of the blood off his face with his sleeve.

“Top floor huh?” He rounded a corner and made a beeline for a set of ascending stairs. _I hope Jim wasn’t lying. If Jack is there, then X and Daryl might be too. No, they_ will _be there._ Mark bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time.

_And if what else he said is true, then I don’t have much time. Jack will be dead before nightfall, if he isn’t already..._

With a deep pit of dread sinking into his stomach, Mark continued to race up the stairs.

_Let’s pray I’m not too late._


	25. Chapter 25

_This place is gigantic…_

Jack had lost track of where they were going. Daryl had forced him up a few flight of stairs, down several hallways, and through countless doors. His legs ached and burned, and there were a couple times he thought he might collapse. Yet he knew if he did, Daryl would no doubt punish him for it.

Daryl suddenly brought them to a halt and looked around. They’d stopped at a door that looked no different than the rest, yet it had gold-plated numbers on it. Jack eyed them curiously.

_412\. This must be like the hotel part of the place._

Without hesitation Daryl removed his hand from Jack’s mouth and roughly knocked on the door three times. For a brief moment there was silence, and then a quiet male voice echoed from the other side.

“Come in.”

Daryl huffed and opened the door, pushing it inwards. Jack straightened and peered into the room, anxious to see who was there.

 

Sitting in a chair with his back to the door was a man with black hair. He was positioned behind a large oak desk that was neatly organized and paper-free. The man made no move to face them as Daryl moved himself and Jack into the room and shut the door behind them. Daryl then shoved Jack towards the desk by his neck.

“H-Hey!” Jack stumbled and fell to his good hand and knees, wincing as he collided with the harsh wood floor. Behind him Daryl sniffed and crossed his bulging arms over his chest.

“So, what are we going to do now? You never did tell me.” The brute’s voice was stiff and held a hint of resentment. Jack glanced over his shoulder at him.

“There was a reason for that. You would have spoiled the surprise.”

Jack looked back at the man as he spoke. _I… I recognize that voice._ The Irishman glared uncertainly at the back of the man’s head. He caught a familiar pitch in the man’s voice, yet he couldn’t quite place it. But no matter what he thought was familiar, he couldn’t help but feel frightened. There was something in the man’s tone that made him shudder.

Extremely uneasy, Jack licked his lips and straightened a little. “W-Who are you?”

Daryl snarled behind him, and Jack tensed. Before he could react, Daryl’s heavy foot bashed into the center of his back.

“Ggh!” Jack grimaced and fell completely to the floor. A pained hiss escaped him as his broken arm was jostled around. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, attempting to push himself back up.

A growl oozed from Daryl's throat. “Those lessons weren’t just for my enjoyment, dog. Have you forgotten them already?”

“Daryl, please,” the man said with a sigh. “There’s no need to treat him like that anymore. He still has his finale to perform.”

Jack grunted and managed to push himself back up onto his knees. He looked up at the man just as he started to turn his chair to face the Irishman. Jack’s eyes widened as he stared up at the face peering at him over the desk.

_W-What? What is he doing here?!_

The man smirked.

“Hey Sean. I’m a little hurt you didn’t recognize my voice.”

 

Jack swallowed the sudden dryness in his throat and managed to find his own voice.

“N-Nate? What are you…?”

Nate chuckled and rested his chin on folded hands. “What? ‘What am I doing here?’ That’s kind of a silly question, now isn’t it?” A small, amused grin came over the medic’s face. He pushed away from the desk and rose from his chair. Nate folded his arms behind his back as he started to walk around towards the kneeling Irishman.

Jack stayed put, unsure of what to do. _N-Nate’s here. That’s a good thing, right? Maybe he just wanted to check up on my wounds._ Yet deep down he knew that wasn’t the case. There was something off about the medic. Even though Jack had really only interacted with him once, he had felt that Nate was a really good guy. But looking at him now, Jack wasn’t so sure.

With a quiet chuckle Nate came to a stop right beside Jack. He peered down at him, his dark eyes glittering. Jack took note of what he was wearing, which was a stylish leather jacket over a white shirt and black jeans with green converse. It didn’t really seem the appropriate attire for a person of medicine.

Nate glanced over at Daryl and jerked his chin towards the door. “Leave. Make sure no one interrupts us.”

Daryl nodded with a grunt and gave him a knowing look. He then opened the door and stepped into the hall. Jack heard the lock click in place once the door was shut.

After Daryl was outside, Nate shook his head and let out a sigh. “Man, he’s such a pain, no?” With another chuckle he held out a hand to Jack. The Irishman eyed it warily before gingerly accepting the offer. Nate helped him to his feet and patted him on the back. “There, now why don’t you take a seat in the chair? I want to get a good look at your wounds.”

“Why?”

Jack wasn’t sure why he was questioning him, but something didn’t feel right. Especially after how Daryl had just so easily obeyed the medic. He fixed Nate with a serious yet confused glare. Nate raised a brow and cocked his head.

“Why? So I can help you! That’s all I’ve ever done, Jack, is help you.”

Nate’s voice sounded hurt. Jack winced and looked down. _He’s right, you dummy. You said it yourself, he was the only one you could really trust throughout this whole thing. He’s the one that made sure you didn’t_ die _from your injuries. And now he’s trying to help you again. Just relax you ninny._

Jack let out a breath. “You’re right, sorry.”

Nate smiled and shook his head. “No worries, I understand.” He motioned to the chair, and Jack gladly accepted. He made his way around to the plush office chair and settled into it, letting out a sigh. As soon as he was comfortable Nate began to undo the bandage around his head.

“So,” Jack said, looking around the room while trying to keep still. “What happened? How long was I out?”

“Well,” Nate started, balling up the old bandage and tossing it aside. He then started to work on Jack’s arms. “After Fischbach left, you hit your head pretty good. What’s the last thing you remember?” 

Jack shrugged, enjoying the feeling of relief as his forehead could breath again. “Just that stuff. I remember freaking out, and then I was falling, then I blacked out. Next thing I knew I was in a bed all wrapped up, thanks to you, I’m guessing.” He flashed Nate a smile.

Nate chuckled as he gingerly removed Jack’s arm from its sling. “Yep. That was all thanks to me.”

Relief and appreciation bubbled up in the Irishman. “Thank you, really. So how long was I out?”

“Only for about twelve hours.”

“Really? So has Mark been in contact or anything?” Jack was still a little hopeful about the detective. Perhaps he would just his mind and come back after all.

“No, not in three days.”

Jack's heart started to sink, and then he paused. “Three days? How long has it been since he was here?”

“Three days.”

_...What?_

Jack shook his head and blinked. “Wait a second, three days have gone by since he was here?”

“Yep.”

“And I was only out for twelve hours?”

“Correct.”

Again Jack shook his head. _That's certainly a massive fuckin’ gap! What in the hell? I can’t remember anything…_ It certainly did feel like something was missing.

“So, what was I doing the other sixty hours?”

Before Nate could pop out an answer, there was a brief knock on the door and it opened, revealing a concerned-looking Daryl.

“X, there’s been a breach.”

 

There was a deafening moment of silence.

 

Jack furrowed his brow in confusion, and then his eyes slowly widened in realization. He turned his gaze to the man crouched in front of him tending to his arm. Nate was glaring at Daryl over the desk, a scowl on his face that could have knocked the brute dead.

_Oh… Oh my god. He’s… That’s… Nate is X?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, there ya go! I want to know how many of you actually thought it was Nate :3
> 
> ~Cal


	26. Chapter 26

In the doorway Daryl grumbled and dropped his gaze. “I- Sorry, I didn’t realize- But Jim just called-”

Nate stood abruptly, and Daryl flinched. Jack gaped in fear and amazement. _Daryl’s terrified of him… Rightfully so I guess but…_ He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around what he’d just discovered.

The black-haired man lost his furious scowl and shook his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Christ Daryl, it wasn’t that hard, was it? Just keep watch, that’s all I asked.” Nate moved his hand to glare over his fingers at the brute of a man across the room. “We’ll discuss this later. Now get in here and help me.”

Daryl nodded quickly and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him.

 

Jack trembled as Nate turned back to face him. The Irishman tried to scoot away, the wheels on the chair allowing him to roll a few inches. Yet Daryl was standing right behind him, and the chair came to an abrupt stop as it bumped into Daryl’s solid frame. Then the brute’s hand were quick to drop onto his shoulders, and Jack let out a yelp. Daryl gripped them hard, sending a silent message that Jack was to go nowhere. The Irishman swallowed hard and stared into Nate’s face, attempting to ignore Daryl’s hands.

“S-So you’re X, huh?”

Nate smirked and closed his eyes, turning his head away dramatically. “I really didn’t want you to find out this way. It would have been way more fun the way I planned it. But,” he shrugged and looked back at Jack with a grin. “Guess we can’t all have what we want.”

He reached over and opened one of the drawers of the desk. Jack’s eyes widened as he pulled out a handgun and a roll of grey duct tape. Nate turned back to face him with an excited gleam in his brown eyes.

Desperate to try and waste time, Jack squirmed in his seat and attempted to stall. “Y-You were here the whole time then. Hiding in plain sight. And no one knew but you, right?”

Nate raised a single brow in a cocky way and smirked.

“Very good! The only ones who knew about it were my personal guards at my home, and my double. Not even poor Daryl knew.” He chuckled and gave Daryl an amused glare. The brute growled and tightened his grip on Jack’s shoulders, making the Irishman wince. 

Nate then put the gun in the waistband of his jeans and began toying with the roll of tape. He started to walk slowly around Jack, his eyes glued to the tape.

“But forget about me, you wanted to know where you were for those three days. Well I’ll tell you.” He chortled quietly before he continued. “We interrogated you Jackaboy! You were only unconscious for about three hours after you hit your head, and then Daryl woke you up with some drugs and whatnot. You were pretty out of it, I have to admit. It was then that I revealed myself to Daryl.”

Jack blinked and tried to ignore Daryl’s fingers angrily digging into his flesh.sides. “D-Daryl didn’t know until then?”

“Of course not! He would have told you, he can’t keep a secret worth a damn, so I had to play my part in order to fool everyone. But I have to admit, playing you was the best. Just watching you begin to trust me was riveting, and now I can watch you crumble.” Nate snickered and stopped in front of Jack, still fingering the tape.

“But anyway, we gave you a heavy dose of scopolamine mixed with a little bit of morphine and chloroform. A truth serum, basically. My god you were adorable, all relaxed and loopy, but also gross. You kept drooling everywhere.”

Jack hesitantly shifted in the chair, never taking his eyes off Nate. “A truth serum?”

“Yep. And boy, did you tell the truth! About _everything._ Your regrets about leaving Ireland, how you hated all of us except Felix and Cry, you even told us exactly what you told Daithi. It was kind of hard to understand you though, you were giggling a lot. You even told us about Mark.” Nate sneered and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes finally lifting to stare right at Jack. The Irishman tensed.

“About Mark? What did I say?”

“You kept going on and on about how much you _looove_ him. Kept saying you couldn’t hate him for what he did, and that you loved him instead.” Nate rolled his eyes and rested his hip against the desk, the wooden object creaking slightly. 

 

Jack’s heart dropped to his toes before coming back up to his throat.

_W-What? I don’t love him! That’s… impossible! I barely know the guy! I can’t possibly have that kind of affection for him. I mean, I’m not super gay or anything but, there’s days I wonder what it would be like. But Mark? Come on, that’s not possible! ...Is it?_

 

Nate continued, ignoring Jack’s confused look. “It took a good two days to get most of the info from you. Everything you were willing to spill, we took. And you overflowed our expectations.” He chuckled and shrugged again. “You slept heavily between sessions, and then we gave you another dose before patching you up and puttin’ you to bed. It causes a bit of amnesia, that mix, so that’s why you don’t remember anything.”

He ran a hand through his hair and smirked. “I think that provides the missing puzzle piece.” Nate pushed himself away from the desk and fixed Jack with a cynical grin. “And now I do think it’s time to begin your final performance!”

The criminal mastermind suddenly jerked a strip of tape from the roll, the awful ripping sound filling the room. Jack flinched and struggled slightly against Daryl’s grip. “W-What are you going to do?”

Nate chuckled as he advanced towards him. “Nothing that will harm you. That’s someone else’s job today.” He then harshly grabbed Jack’s jaw to keep his head still. Jack grunted and tried to pull away, yet Daryl’s squeezed his shoulders, and the Irishman tensed and stilled. Nate then slapped the piece of tape over Jack’s mouth and released his jaw.

“Mm!” Jack jumped and immediately went to take the tape off, yet Nate snatched his wrist and pinned it to the chair. The Irishman struggled as Nate used his teeth to rip off another, longer, piece of tape. He wrapped it around the arm of the chair and Jack’s wrist, trapping the Irishman’s arm there. Once he was done, he stepped back and cocked his head. He then gave a quick nod, and Daryl released the Irishman.

Jack immediately struggled and went to stand up. Almost instantly Nate lashed out with a foot and kicked Jack’s knees. The Irishman flailed and fell back into the chair, his momentum causing the chair to roll back into Daryl. Nate chuckled and jerked another strip free from the roll of tape, the ripping sound echoing throughout the room once again. Jack shuddered and stared at him wide-eyed.

_What is he going to do to me?! What is this final performance? I thought I gave them everything they needed!_

Suddenly Daryl’s hands were back on his shoulders, their grip stronger than ever.

“G-Gnngh!” Jack cried out a dropped his head, gritting his teeth to ease himself past the pain. Nate took the opportunity to tape Jack’s legs together at the ankles. Then he took Jack’s broken arm, free from its sling, and forced it against the other arm of the chair. Jack winced and tried to pull away, yet Nate had no problem restraining him and taping that arm down too, with Daryl’s help of course.

 

In a matter of seconds Jack was securely duct taped to the office chair, restrained and muted. He arched his back to try and rip his arms free, and Daryl growled, pushing down roughly on Jack’s shoulders. Jack grimaced and Nate sighed.

“Christ Jack, you’re quite the pain yourself.” He took another long strip of tape and placed it over Jack’s thighs and around the bottom of the seat. Now Jack could literally go nowhere.

Jack struggled and tossed his head to the side, desperate to break the tape. Nate simply sneered and waved Daryl back. After Daryl took a few steps back and released the Irishman, Nate snatched one arm of the chair and pulled it close to him. Jack’s eyes widened as he was suddenly face-to-face with Nate. He stopped struggling and trembled, fear crawling up his spine.

“Well Jack, are you ready to have fun?” Nate cackled as he stood back and spun the chair, catching Jack off-guard. The Irishman screwed his eyes shut to block out the spinning world around him, his stomach pitching. He felt Nate shove the chair again, and Jack felt the chair precariously start to tip. Before it could crash to the floor though, Nate grabbed it and forced it to stop spinning.

Jack’s head spun and he blinked rapidly, trying to gain his bearings. He was breathing heavily through his nose, the rubbery stench of the duct tape over his mouth filling his nostrils. In front of him Nate chuckled. 

“Now Jack, you stay here and sit still.,” Nate said with a sort of playful tone. “If you do anything, I won’t hesitate to kill you. Your job is to relax and be quiet. You can do that, can’t you?”

Jack shook his head to try and clear it and jerked weakly on his restraints. Nate smirked and patted Jack’s unkempt green hair.

“I think we can begin. Daryl, the door!”

Daryl nodded and walked to the right side of the room. Nate opened another drawer and rummaged around. He then made a small noise of victory and pulled out a well-worn baseball cap. Jack eyed the thing warily. Nate then turned and plopped the hat on Jack’s head. The Irishman winced as Nate pulled it down over his head completely and tightened it.

“There. Now he won’t be able to tell.” Nate took a step back and studied his work. With a small nod and a grin he maneuvered the chair so that it was in its rightful place behind the desk. He then turned the chair so that Jack’s back was to the door. Nate walked around to the front of the desk and studied what he saw.

“Yep! That’ll work nicely.” With a small clap he turned to Daryl. “And now the show can begin! Did Jim say anything?”

“Yes, he said that he was on his way here.”

“Excellent! Let’s get to our seats then!”

Daryl nodded and went to the wall. He moved a picture aside to reveal a small panel with a number pad. Jack watched as the brute punched in a four-digit code, which was rewarded by a small beep.

Suddenly the wall shifted, and a portion of it slid open to reveal another room. Jack’s eyes widened as he stared at the secret room. Daryl put the picture back in place and then turned back to Nate. The black-haired man strode confidently towards the room and entered without looking back. Once he was inside, Daryl followed him, and the wall slid closed, hiding them from view.

For a moment Jack did nothing but stare. Then it finally hit him that he was alone. _That was fucking weird. I wonder what Nate has planned. I’ll have to worry about that later, hopefully. But for now, I have to get out of here._ He went to struggle, and just as he tugged on the tape, Nate’s voice boomed all around him.

_“Ah ah ah! I told you not to move! If you do, I’ll shoot you. Well, Daryl will. He’s the one with the gun.”_

Then vaguely in the background Daryl’s mumbling voice reached Jack’s ears. _“I told you he didn’t listen to orders.”_

Jack looked around, his eyes wide. _Where in the hell did that come from?! Is it like an intercom or something? It sounded like he was right next to me…_

 

Suddenly the door behind him burst open, so hard that it hit the wall with a _bang,_ causing Jack to jump. He froze. _Who is that? Jim? Some other guy? Oh god what do I do?_

Then the sound of a gun cocking snapped in his head. His blood ran cold, and he trembled. _Oh god, I’m dead. They’re going to kill me…_ Jack squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the roar of the gun and searing pain.

Instead, Nate’s voice was what he heard.

“Ah, Detective. How nice of you to stop by.”

Jack’s eyes snapped open. _Detective? Could it be…?_

“Where is he?”

Jack’s heart nearly exploded as that familiar baritone voice filled the air. Tears burned his eyes as he tried to catch his breath, which was difficult thanks to the tape over his mouth. Relief, happiness, and an unexplainable amount of joy coursed through him, making him shudder and feel tingly all over. Jack turned his head, trying to get a peek of the other man in the room. Yet the chair was too wide, and he saw nothing of what was behind him. But he heard the detective shift and step closer. Jack let out a breath and dropped his head back against the chair, his tears threatening to spill as he closed his eyes. 

_Mark... He came back. He really came back! Mark came back for me… I’m saved..._


	27. Chapter 27

Mark glared at the chair before him, taking another step into the room that Jim said was X’s office. He gingerly shut the door behind him, making sure the only exit was blocked. His furious brown eyes bored into the only thing he could see of the mysterious man before him, which was the very top of the person’s head. Mark could barely make out light brown hair underneath an old black baseball cap. 

X spoke again, his voice coy and playful. “Why, who ever do you mean?”

He recognized the voice. It was definitely X.

_But where is Jack? Jim must have lied, and it’s probably a trap._

The detective growled. “What do you mean ‘who’? Jack, damnit, _where’s Jack?”_

 

Jack tried to swallow his tears as Mark’s voice, despite it being angry and harsh, soothed him. He steadied his breathing and shifted in the chair. Hopefully Mark would act fast and cut him out of here before Nate and Daryl returned. Yet Mark’s questions about his whereabouts were concerning. _Perhaps he’s playing dumb? Trying to trick Nate maybe?_

 

X chuckled and let out a breath. “Oh that poor boy? He’s closer than you think. Not dead yet though, but if you don’t hurry, he will be~!”

X’s voice had shifted to a sing-song pitch, and it made Mark’s nerves itch irritability.

Mark let out a deep breath and tightened his grip on his gun. He kept it pointed at the chair just in front of him. _This sonofabitch. I swear I’ll kill him if he tries anything. I just hope I can find out who he really is before he dies._

“Turn around.”

X snorted. “Why? So you can kill me?”

“I’ll kill you either way. I want you to see my face as I blow your brains out,” Mark snarled.

“My, aren’t we feisty?” X laughed heartily.

“Turn around damn it!”

 

Jack flinched in his chair as Mark yelled. _Why is he saying that? Can he not see me here? Why is he talking to X? He can’t even see him, unless Nate came back into the room without me noticing._

And then it hit him.

_The hat… a-and the chair… He can’t see me! Mark has no idea that I’m here. He must think that Nate’s in the chair. Then that means…_

Jack’s eyes widened and his blood seemed to turn to ice.

_Mark will kill me before he knows it’s not X._

With a quiet grunt, muffled by the tape, he went to struggle in his chair. Yet he suddenly heard a gun cock back, and he knew immediately that it was X in his little room, that he was silently threatening him. Jack stiffened and was still as his heart hammered hard in his chest and his breaths quickened.

 

Mark tensed as he heard a gun click from across the room and he raised his gun a bit further, aiming it at X’s head. The chair shifting heightened his anxiety. “Don’t try anything! I _will_ shoot you.”

X chuckled and Mark could hear the gun being fiddled with. _He’s going to try and shoot me, isn’t he?_

“No you won’t,” X said matter-of-factly. “You wouldn’t _dare_ shoot me! I’m too valuable for your operation. I’m not _worth_ harming.”

Mark lowered the gun to where X’s left shoulder would be through the chair and growled. “Why don’t you turn around and find out?”

Another chuckle. “No, I think I’ll stay here and prove _my_ point. You couldn’t shoot me. You’re too _soft_. Plus the only reason you want me to turn around is so that you can see my face. Find out who I _really_ am. You can’t fool me, _Detective_.”

The detective snarled and slid his finger over the trigger. “Guess I’ll have to prove you wrong.”

 

Jack froze. _No… No, no no no, Mark! Don’t shoot! Oh god please don’t shoot!_ He jerked at his restraints and tossed his head, trying to get Mark’s attention. The Irishman attempted to call out Mark’s name in desperation.

“Mmrph!” Again he struggled, fear and anxiety consuming him.

_Mark! Mark please, wait!_

 

Mark flinched as the chair in front of him seemed to convulse, and X’s head swung to the right. Fearing an attack, Mark steadied his hand, and just as he heard the muffled cry, he pulled the trigger.

 

Time seemed to suddenly slow down.

 

Jack’s eyes widened as he heard the gunshot, and then he jerked when the bullet ripped through his left shoulder. A spray of blood filled his left peripheral, and then there was pain. It burned and seemed to run down his arm and up his neck like fire. There was a deep, ebbing throb, and Jack shuddered as he felt hot blood run down his chest, arm, and back. He couldn’t help it as he violently slumped forward, the hat falling from his head. Another wave of pain consumed him, and he arched his back, his head pressed firmly against the back of the chair. He could feel a shriek rising in his throat as his fingers curled into the arms of the chair and bit into the leather. 

_M-Mark..._

 

Mark tensed and held his firing position as he waited for some sort of reaction. There was a neat hole in the chair where the bullet had gone through the faux leather and cushioning, a trail of smoke briefly trailing up from it.

That muffled cry had startled the detective, and confused him, but he didn’t let it bother him. It could have been a weird trick or something. He watched as X’s head disappeared briefly as the man slumped forward. The newfound silence coming from the criminal was a bit disturbing, and Mark took a hesitant step forward.

_Did… Did I accidentally kill him? Was that even a real person? Or was it a dummy of some kind?_

Yet he jumped as X’s head popped back up, and a strangled and muffled scream filled the room seconds later.

For a moment Mark was frozen.

X’s hair was _green._

_No… Green hair. That’s not X, it can’t be…_

Realization slammed into him like a truck, and Mark let his gun fall from his hands. It clattered noisily to the floor. His eyes went wide and he started to tremble.

“J-Jack?”

His voice was barely above a whisper. _Oh god, please don’t let it be him, please._

Yet his question was rewarded with a faint, choked sob that nearly shattered his soul. 

 

Mark frantically scrambled around the desk to the front of the chair. _Oh my god, oh my god, please…_ What he was greeted with made his heart jump into his mouth.

_No… Oh, no…_

“Jack!”

The Irishman was slumped in the chair, his hands and feet bound by duct tape, and a small piece of tape was over his mouth. His head was down and his eyes closed. His left shoulder was soaked in blood, the black T-shirt he was wearing hiding most of the nasty truth. Mark could easily tell he wasn’t dead, thank god, since the Irishman’s body was trembling violently and tears dripped from his chin onto his lap. The drops of water made dark spots on his jeans. 

Mark hurriedly yet gently took Jack’s face in his hands and lifted his head. “Jack, hey. Jack, come on, open your eyes! Open them, please!” His own eyes flicked about frantically as he studied the Irishman’s face, waiting for a response. “Come on Jack please,” he whispered.

Jack cracked open his eyes just barely, his eyelashes clumped together from his tears. Another muted sob escaped him, and he dropped his head, despite Mark’s efforts to keep it up. His body was shaking violently.

“Hey, hey, Jack, look at me,” Mark said quickly, his voice trembling. He picked Jack’s head up again and made the Irishman look at him. “Look at me.”

The Irishman’s face was contorted with pain and from his crying. He kept his eyes squeezed shut as tears streamed down his face. Mark bit his lip and gingerly peeled the duct tape from Jack’s mouth. Once it was free, Jack let out a shuddering gasp and fell into a silent weeping fit.

Mark closed his eyes and hugged Jack’s head close to his chest, his heart racing. “It’s alright, sshh, It’s okay, I’ve got you.” 

Jack sniffled and turned his head to the side to that he could breath. A soft breath passed over his lips before he hiccuped, signaling the near-end of the waterworks.

“Y-Y-,” Jack croaked, before he licked his lips and swallowed the painful lump in his throat. “Y-You shot me.”

Mark let out a quiet laugh and pulled back, looking down into Jack’s face. Those blue eyes were big and bright with tears. “I guess I did.”

Jack smiled weakly and pulled back as well, producing a small cough. His glassy blue eyes met Mark’s soft brown. “You came back,” he choked.

“I guess I did that too.”

A fresh wave of tears blurred Jack’s vision, and he let out a stifled laugh. Mark sighed and pulled Jack back in for another awkward hug.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Jack nodded against the detective’s chest and closed his eyes, finally able to breath through the pain. “S’okay.”

After a moment they pulled away, and Jack let out a deep breath, trying to collect himself. He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. While he tried to steady his nerves, Mark looked over to the drawers of the desk. He glanced at Jack’s bound wrists and then reached over to the top-most drawer. Pulling it open, he moved several objects aside, until he found what he was looking for: a letter opener.

Mark turned back to Jack and began to gingerly cut away at the duct tape binding his wrists to the chair. Jack opened his eyes to watch Mark’s antics.

As Mark finished with the left arm, he switched to the right. He eyed the bandages around it warily and gently began to saw away the duct tape.

“So is it broken?” Mark asked as he studied Jack's damaged arm.

Jack gave the detective an almost shameful look and nodded. “Yeah, it’s useless,” he mumbled.

Mark winced as Jack said the word ‘useless’. He couldn’t help but think back to three days ago, when he was forced to say those god-awful things to the Irishman. The detective bit his lip and carefully moved Jack’s arm out of the duct tape before he cut the strip across his legs. A deep self-disgust had started to take root in Mark's stomach ever since that day, and he wanted so desperately to make it right with the Irishman.

Yet before he could, Jack sniffled and Mark immediately brought his gaze to the Irishman's face. He was crying again.

Jack wiped his eyes with his left arm, wincing as his shoulder complained. “I-I thought you were never coming back,” he whispered hoarsely. “I-I thought-”

Mark didn’t let him finish.

The detective quickly pulled the Irishman into a crushing embrace, his arms a tight vice around the ex-criminal. The letter opener clattered to the floor. 

Jack’s eyes widened as he found himself yet against pressed against Mark’s chest. There was an urge to push away, to shove Mark away and run. Yet the warmth that he was nestled against convinced him otherwise, and Jack relaxed. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the front of Mark’s shoulder. Without really thinking he reached up and clung to Mark’s shirt with his good hand. A tiny shudder passed through him as he felt the detective's heartbeat pulsing beneath his palm.

Mark closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the top of Jack’s head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Jack shook his head, tears spilling onto his cheeks and running down his face to soak into Mark’s shirt. “I was so scared,” Jack whispered in response. “I thought I was going to die. I’d lost all hope. And then when I saw you, I-I was so ha-appy.” The Irishman let out a breath as he stuttered over his words. “But then you said those things, and my hope was g-gone…”

Mark shook his head slightly and tightened his hold on the Irishman. “No, no that wasn’t me. I didn’t mean any of it. I was forced to say those things.”

A small sniffle came from Jack. “R-Really?”

“Yes. X threatened me at gunpoint. I had to say those things, so I could get out alive, and then come back for you.”

Jack gave a little nod against Mark’s shoulder. Mark felt him start shaking again, so he rubbed small circles into the Irishman’s back.

“I thought you h-hated me.”

Mark let out a quick breath. “No, no I could never hate you Jack. Never.”

 

They sat like for a minute, just drinking in the feeling of the other’s warmth. For Jack, it was like a comforting blanket was dropped on his conscious. He felt safe; secure. Mark’s words brought him a great amount of comfort. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he could relax and not fear another person’s touch.

Mark was relieved of an awful burden; it felt like a massive weight was just alleviated from his shoulders. He was suddenly soothed as he finally held the Irishman close, feeling like he had calmed his anxious and nervous mind. Just being physically able to see for himself that Jack was alive was enough for him.

 

And in that moment they blissfully forgot about the world around them.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating these past few days! Couldn't find a good place with internet and I got busy with family activities and travel :3

Yet their precious moment was not to last.

 

A slow, deliberate clapping came from across the room. Both Mark and Jack jerked up and turned towards it.

Nate and Daryl stood against the right wall, the panel to the secret room sliding closed behind them. Daryl was glaring at the duo with his arms crossed while Nate was the one clapping, a devilish smirk plastered on his face.

“Very well done boys,” he said as he stopped his clapping and tucked his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Almost brought a tear to my eye. I’m such a sucker for romantic dramas.”

 

Mark gritted his teeth and turned towards him, partly shielding Jack as the Irishman frantically reached to get the duct tape off his ankles.

_I recognize his voice. So this is X. He must have set up some sort of speaker or something and talked through that in order to make me think he was where Jack was. He wanted me to kill Jack._

“You evil asshole,” Mark growled. “You set this up. You wanted me to kill Jack thinking it was you. Jim purposely sent me here. It was all some sort of trap.”

 

Before X or Mark could get another word in, Jack struggled to his feet and grabbed Mark’s shoulder, pulling on it heavily in order to stand. Once he was on his feet he kept his grip on the detective’s shoulder to keep himself upright. The Irishman grimaced as his still bleeding shoulder throbbed.

“W-Why Nate?” Jack ground out. “Why did you help me before? You could have just let me die, and then you wouldn’t have have to worry about me running my mouth. Why help me?!”

Mark looked between Jack and ‘Nate’. _So his name is Nate. Doesn’t really look like a Nate…_

 

Nate chuckled and shrugged. “Like I said, I’m a sucker for drama, always have been. I wanted to set the stage for you two. Plus using you to get what we needed from Mark was extremely handy, seeing as he isn’t one to crack under torture.”

Jack bit his lip and looked to the floor.

Nate cackled and shifted his gaze to Mark. “As for your question; yes. It was all a trap. Though you missed a spot.” He chuckled and started to slowly saunter towards the door, his gaze dropping to the floor. “See, you weren’t supposed to kill the Irish bean. Yeah, it would have been easier and way more dramatic, but, I _love_ playing with people.” A smug look came over his face as he paused and looked back up at Mark. “The fun is only just beginning. See, you both still have a part to play in this grand pursuance.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” Mark growled, desperately trying to keep his composure and not run from the room dragging Jack with him.

Nate smirked and shrugged. “I thought it’d be obvious, _Detective._ You’ll serve as martyrs, don’t you see? Once the media gets their slimy claws on the news that you were brutally murdered by the gang Jack here was involved in, the people will be calling for our heads.”

Mark’s eyes widened slightly. “So, you’ll kill us, then use our deaths as bait? For what?”

The criminal mastermind rolled his eyes and sighed. “Detective you are such a disappointment! Must I explain everything to you?” Nate groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, I guess that it would be alright to tell you. You’re both going to die anyway.” He grinned and waved a hand in Daryl’s direction. The brute pulled out a handgun and pointed it at the duo. Mark protectively raised an arm in front of Jack and glared at Daryl.

Jack blinked and looked down at Mark’s arm. The action confused him greatly, but he let it go at the moment. He then looked over to Nate, who fixed him a sadistic smirk.

“So what is your plan then? What were we building up to for the past two years?” Jack asked warily. 

Nate chuckled and tapped the side of his head. There was something mad, almost insane, about the gesture. “Clever boy. You knew something was up, didn’t you? Ever since Felix told you something was happening, that you were part of something bigger, you knew, didn’t you?”

Jack swallowed and tried to glare Nate in the eye. “I-I had my suspicions.”

“And you knew it wasn’t right. You sensed it was something that you didn’t sign up for, and you wanted out. This is why all this happened, isn’t it?”

Mark glanced over his shoulder at Jack briefly before looking back at Daryl. “What’s he talking about Jack?”

The Irishman shook his head slightly. “I-I don’t know.”

“Psch. Yeah right,” Nate scoffed. “Come on Jack, we gave you the truth juice! You spilled _everything!_ I already knew why you did what you did, but even you know! C’mon, share it with the class! There’s no secrets here.”

Jack bit his lip. “So what if I did that stuff? It doesn’t matter now!”

Nate shook his head and wagged his finger. “ _Tchtchtch._ You can’t lie to me, Jack. I know everything. You abducted Mark on your own, without orders, didn’t you?”

The Irishman’s eyes widened and he quickly shook his head. “N-No, no! That’s not true! Felix said-”

“Said what? That we should kidnap a cop and interrogate him about the break-ins?”

At this Jack piped down and looked at the floor. Mark glanced at him once again.

“What is he talking about?”

Jack just shook his head, his face full of regret.

Nate chuckled from across the room. “Jackaboy here took matters into his own hands. Got himself arrested. Kidnapped you for his own benefit. No one told him to do that. He just took the initiative to get the info I wanted. Like a dog who wants to be so good for its master that it goes above and beyond.” He sneered at Mark. “ _He_ did this to you. If Jack here hadn’t outsmarted you in the interrogation room, you’d still be in your office, lookin’ over files about the break-ins!”

“SHUT UP!” Jack suddenly yelled. “Just shut up!”

A stifling silence filled the room. Mark kept his gaze on Jack, his brow furrowed, while Nate smirked at the both of them.

“I only did that because I thought it would get me out,” Jack explained. His breaths were a bit heavy and rough. “I thought that if I gave you what you wanted you’d let me out, that’s all I wanted.”

“So it was for your own benefit then,” Nate shot back, his words practically oozing with his huge grin.

Jack stiffened and glanced at Mark. “T-That’s-”

“The truth!” Nate finished. He clapped his hands together once and let out a happy sigh. “See Detective, Jack’s the only reason you’re here! He’s the one that got you caught up in this mess.”

Mark glared at Nate for a moment before answering.

_“I don’t give a shit.”_

 

Nate blinked and looked at him, a bit confused. “And why not? Aren’t you furious? You should be.”

The detective shook his head, which made Jack gape at him in surprise.

“I’m not mad. Not in the slightest. He only did what he thought was necessary to survive. Plus he made up for it after.”

“By getting you out of there,” Jack said quietly, his voice a little tight with relief.

“And by patching me up. He let me in without hesitation.” Mark smirked and turned towards Nate to glare at him fully. “He’s a nice guy, and he doesn’t belong with you and your goons. He helped me, and he’s smart enough to put himself first in the right situations. What he did was wrong, I’ll admit,” he gave Jack a quick smile before glaring back at Nate. “But he made up for it, and made it very clear that he feels horrible about what he did. I find it hard not to forgive him.”

 

For a moment Nate just stared at them, a look of slight disbelief on his face. Once he seemed to realize what was happening, he blinked a few times and scoffed.

“Well, wasn’t expecting that. What a plot twist!”

Jack cleared his throat across the room. _Yeah no fuckin’ kiddin’._

Mark smirked and gave Nate almost a proud look.

 

Nate shook his head as if trying to clear it of something. “Huh, guess that didn’t work. Looks like the tragedy comes after the romance, not before. What a tale.” He shrugged and turned to Daryl, who was still glaring at Mark and Jack and pointing a gun at them.

“Dispose of them. Let them play out their final performance.” With that he chuckled and abruptly left the room, closing the door behind him.

Drayl nodded and raised his gun. Both Mark and Jack whirled to face him.

 

What happened next took about two seconds.

 

The gun was aimed at Mark’s head. Daryl pulled the trigger. The thunderous roar of the weapon filled the room. In the same instant, Jack shoved Mark out of the way.

As Mark hit the ground, he frantically scrambled to look back. Just as the gunshot faded out, he caught sight of the still-standing Jack. The detective’s brown eyes widened slowly as he absorbed the scene before him.

_No..._

Jack stared straight ahead, his face set in a mask of shock. A soft choke passed over his slightly parted lips, and he fell slowly to his knees. They collided with the wood floor, an audible _thump_ echoing around the room. As he did, the ever-growing splotch of red in the dead-center of his chest became visible.

“Jack! No!”

Mark tried desperately to get to his feet, yet he ended up half-crawling half-scrambling over to Jack’s side. Yet before he could reach him, Daryl let off another shot. It hit the floor just inches from Mark’s hands, and he cursed.

_That son of a bitch! He shot him! He shot Jack!_

The detective snarled, rage suddenly surging through him. He whirled on Daryl and bolted to his feet, not wasting any time to lunge at the brute.

Daryl fired again, yet he missed, the bullet just barely flying past Mark’s neck. The detective crashed into him, knocking the brute against the wall. The gun spun from his hands and clattered to the floor.

Mark saw red as he pulled back his fist and smashed it into Daryl’s face. Over and over again, he let out all his fury and anger towards this man, not even giving him a chance to swing back. Daryl tried, but Mark’s fury and adrenaline-boosted blows prevented any sort of retaliation.

After Daryl’s face started to resemble a bunch of purple cauliflower, Mark released him. The brute slumped to the floor, his head lolling to the side and his breaths coming in shuddering wheezes. He looked like shit. Blood poured from his nose, and both his eyes were already close to being swollen shut. His lips were coated with red, and his teeth had a new red shade too. Bruises were already forming, and he couldn’t keep his head upright.

Mark glared down at him, his breaths heaving and brow sweating. He barely felt the ache in his fists. The detective growled and spit at him.

“Fuck you,” Mark snarled.

Then he turned around, and the reason he had gone bat-shit crazy figuratively slapped him in the face. His anger immediately vanished and was replaced by panic and fear.

“Jack!”

 

The Irishman was lying on his side, curled up in a loose, weak-looking ball. His eyes were closed, and his face was extremely pale. His hands were clutching the center of his chest, coated in blood. A small pool had started to form beneath them, as well as where his shoulder met the floor. The front of his shirt was soaked red, and Mark couldn’t help but think back to his dream. Jack had been shot in it, too. Dead-center in the chest, just like this.

Mark rushed over to him and fell to his knees, his hands immediately sliding under Jack’s torso to lift him up. Jack’s head rolled weakly to the side, and Mark’s stomach lurched.

“No no no, Jack, come on, wake up! Wake up! Please!”

Jack grimaced and shifted his head ever so slightly. He tried to meet Mark’s gaze, but it seemed his neck wasn’t letting him. Mark carefully moved one hand from Jack’s back to cradle his head.

“M-Mark-” Jack whispered hoarsely.

“Hey, it’s alright," Mark murmured. "I’ve gotcha. Don’t speak. I’m here.”

Jack shook his head ever-so-slightly and squeezed his eyes shut. “I-I couldn’t… I couldn’t bear the thought of y-you dying here. T-That’s why-”

“Jack stop. Stop it right now. You’re going to be fine. We’ll get out here, and we’ll get help. It’ll be fine.”

The Irishman opened his eyes weakly and managed a smile. “Don’t kid yourself D-Detective.” He then coughed violently, and blood splurted from his mouth. Mark winced and wiped it away. Jack’s breath began to suddenly rattle in his chest.

“M-Mark I think… I think this is it.”

Mark shook his head violently and pulled Jack closer “No, no it isn’t. Look I’ll call an ambulance right now. I have my phone, see?” He kept cradling Jack’s head as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed 911. “It’ll be okay Jack, just stay with me. Don’t close your eyes,” he said quickly as he pressed the mobile device to his ear.

Jack’s eyes fluttered and he coughed again. “W-What.. ever you… s-say.”

Mark peered worriedly into Jack’s face as the dispatcher’s voice came through the phone.

“911 what’s your emergency?”

“My friend’s been shot and he’s bleeding badly. Maybe a punctured lung.”

“Alright sir stay calm. Where are you?”

He told them the address. “And hurry! Please!”

“Alright sir the ambulance is on its way. Just try and keep pressure on the wound.”

“T-Thanks.”

He hung up and stuffed his phone in his pocket. “Alright Jack, help’s on the way. Just stay with me, alright? Jack?”

Jack’s eyes had closed, and his breathing was much shallower. Mark quickly shook him. “Jack? Jack! Come on buddy wake up!”

The Irishman managed to open his eyes just a crack. _“M-Mar-rk, st-top, j-just leave me…”_

“Sorry, not gonna happen.” The detective quickly scooped Jack up in his arms and stood up. Jack was too weak to protest.

Mark quickly made his way to the door, but not before snatching his gun. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

 

To Mark’s relief the door was unlocked, and he burst into the hall, already making a beeline for the stairs. Jack groaned in his arms, and Mark could feel blood soaking into his own shirt.

_He’s bleeding too much. I have to slow it down, or he won’t make it._

After he made it down onto the third floor, Mark gently set Jack down. He pulled off his flannel and balled it up, pressing it gently against Jack’s chest. The Irishman winced and whimpered slightly, but to Mark it was a slight relief. _He’s still aware enough that it hurts. That’s good._

Just then, there came the clicking of a gun behind him. Mark tensed and whirled around.

Standing behind him was Nate, aiming a gun right at him.

_“Guess this is the closing of the curtain!”_ Nate sang.

He pulled the trigger.


	29. Chapter 29

Mark didn’t have time to react. He could only gape at Nate as the criminal fired off three shots.

_BLAM BLAM BLAM!_

In the next instant Mark found himself falling, a deep, aching pain blossoming throughout his chest and right arm. He hit the ground hard, and the next thing he knew, everything went black.

 

What seemed to only a be a few seconds later, the detective’s eyes snapped open. It took a minute to recall what had happened, and the pain in his chest and arm had no trouble reminding him. A low groan of pain escaped him as he struggled to sit up.

_Ugh, fuck that hurt…_

He gritted his teeth and looked down at his chest. With a trembling left hand he lifted up his t-shirt to reveal his bullet-proof vest. 

_Thank god I wore this._

Two bullets, one right over his heart and other just below his ribs on the left side, were embedded deep in the black material. With a quick grunt he went about yanking them out. They fell silently on the carpet.

Mark then looked to his right arm, where a stinging pain was throbbing. The third bullet had only grazed his bicep, leaving a gash and a small burn. Nothing serious.

_I’m lucky Nate’s a terrible shot. He could have killed me with any hit above the neck._

Speaking of the gang leader, Marked looked up and saw him standing at the end of the hall, his back to the detective. He was staring out the window with his hands clasped behind his back. His gun rested on the stair railing beside him. Nate seemed to be talking to himself as well. What he was saying Mark couldn’t tell, but he didn’t care. Yet he could hear the distant wailing of sirens.

The detective then turned to Jack. The Irishman was where he had left him, and lying right beside him. _I’m lucky I didn’t fall on him..._

Mark quickly checked Jack’s pulse, and found it beating steadily, but softly. His blue eyes were closed, and his breaths were shallow and rattled. Mark bit his lip and tried to shake him awake. _Come on, come on! Don’t quit on me yet._

Jack whimpered and weakly clutched at his chest, his hands clenched around Mark’s now bloody flannel.

A wave of relief washed over the detective. _He’s still slightly conscious. Just hang on a little longer Jack._

He then looked back to Nate. The crazy man hadn’t moved.

Mark stealthily reached for his gun, which had fallen from his hands and landed, thankfully, not too far away. Without making a sound he checked the clip. All bullets were still accounted for, minus the one that had put a hole in Jack’s shoulder.

The detective took a deep breath and rose to his feet. His chest still ached, but it was a pain he could live this. It fueled his senses, and kept him alert. It also kept him focused on his goal.

Mark raised the gun and cocked it back as quietly as he could. Nate didn’t seem to notice.

“Nate.”

The criminal whirled around, obviously taken by surprise. Mark could read the disbelief in his face as he gaped at him.

“How are you-?!”

“Plot twist.” Mark lifted his shirt to reveal his vest. “I came prepared.”

Before Nate could reply or reach for his gun, Mark aimed his gun at Nate’s legs and fired.

 

Nate roared as his left kneecap practically exploded, and he fell onto his right knee. He glared back up at Mark and snarled, his eyes wild and full of anger.

“This isn’t over Fischbach,” he snarled lowly. “You can’t stop what I’ve started. You don’t even know what my plan is!”

Mark smirked and fired again. Nate cried out as blood burst from his right thigh, and his hands immediately went to grapple at the wound.

“I do know. I’m a detective, remember?”

Nate looked back up at him, now almost completely crippled, and growled. “I doubt that.”

“Anarchy,” Mark replied simply. “You wanted to overthrow the system and disrupt the government. Take control yourself.”

The criminal gritted his teeth and glared at him. “How’d you figure it out?”

Mark shrugged. “One of your men was quite eager to spill the beans. Yet he decided to have a date with a moving bus. Gave me what I needed though.”

Nate scoffed. “Never took you as the murdering type. Yet as I look at you now, I see it.”

“I didn’t kill him. He committed suicide because he betrayed you.”

Another scoff. “That sounds about right.” Nate grimaced and shifted, going to sit back on his rear and stretch his bloody legs out before him. He looked almost innocent while sitting like that.

Mark tucked his gun back into his jeans and went to Jack. He gently picked up the Irishman and held him close. Jack mumbled something and rested his head against Mark’s chest.

The detective then went to walk down the stairs. He had to pass Nate in order to get there, and the criminal kept his dark eyes on them the whole time. Mark gave him a wide berth, afraid he might try something although he could no longer walk on his own.

As Mark made his way down the first three steps, Nate started to laugh. It was a low, highly amused sound.

“So, you’re just going to leave me here? Let the cops come get me after they show up? How naive are you?”

Mark paused and looked back at him. He let no emotion show in his face. After he stared at Nate for a good few seconds, he continued down the stairs.

Nate laughter could still be heard even as Mark started down to the first floor.

 

Mark paused on the ground level and looked around. He hadn’t encountered any other gang member, and the building just seemed quiet. Almost deserted. Yet the ear-piercing cry of the sirens outside filled the odd silence.

_Perhaps they all fled,_ he thought as he walked across the lobby, holding an unmoving Jack in his arms. _Maybe they heard the sirens and bailed. Or someone told them to evacuate. No matter, I guess. As long as we get out of here, that’s all that matters._

Just as he reached the center of the lobby, he heard a strange commotion on his left. Mark flinched and turned towards it, but then the doors burst open in front of him, revealing the night sky, bobbing flashlights, and a group of S.W.A.T. members ready to barge in. Upon seeing Mark and Jack, the leader raised his hand, holding off the charge.

Relief washed over Mark, and he almost fell to his knees just from the overwhelming feeling. Yet he managed to keep himself upright as a team of paramedics rushed over to him.

_We’re going to be okay. We’re saved._

 

Yet suddenly, a massive arm wrapped around his neck from behind and jerked. Mark cried out and went to struggle, yet he stiffened as he felt something sharp bite into the skin on his neck. The S.W.A.T. all shouted and went to help.

Mark felt a hot breath brush against his ear before his captor yelled at the approaching people.

“Stay back! Or I’ll kill him!”

The S.W.A.T. stopped their advance and waited, their postures tense and worried. Mark froze as that voice sent chills down his spine.

Behind him, Daryl chuckled. “You didn’t think a good few punches would put me down, did you?” He smirked and removed the sharp object from Mark’s neck and held it up for him to see.

Mark’s breath hitched and he tensed. It was a syringe, filled with clear liquid. Something told him it was different from the one Daryl had given Jack before.

_Is… Is he going to give that to Jack? Will it kill him?_

Daryl smirked and looked over Mark’s shoulder at the semi-conscious Jack. “Aw, he looks cute like that. All covered in blood and whatnot. I don’t want to disturb him.” The brute then removed his arm from Mark’s neck and grabbed a handful on his faded-red hair instead.

“Ggh!” Mark grimaced and tried to struggle, and the S.W.A.T. shifted, ready to shoot. Yet Daryl maneuvered Mark’s body in front of his, using the detective as a human shield. Jack was part of the equation as well since Mark still held him tightly.

“But you on the other hand,” Daryl hissed in Mark’s ear. “ _You_ I need to repay. How about a pinch for a few punches? That seems fair.” He chuckled and moved the syringe back to Mark’s neck.

Mark squirmed and squeezed his eyes shut. “D-Daryl don’t do this.”

“Hmm, let me think about that.” There was a pause, and Mark opened his eyes, just slightly hopeful.

“Nah, I’m gonna do it. X sends his regards.”

Mark’s eyes widened, and then he felt a sharp pinch on his neck as Daryl slid the needle under his skin. He could feel the liquid entering his system. It was hot, and he didn’t even feel when Daryl removed the needle.

“There,” the brute snarled. “Have a nice nap.”

With that he released Mark’s hair and shoved him into the S.W.A.T. team. They all exclaimed as they tried to catch the toppling detective and the man he was carrying.

They couldn’t even get a shot off as Daryl booked it down the hallway and disappeared.

 

Mark’s head was swimming. His vision was all sorts of disoriented, and he couldn’t see straight. He tried to push himself up on his hands, but as he moved, what felt like fire flooded his veins. Mark convulsed, his body curling in on itself as he tried to scream. Another wave consumed him, and another, and another. He felt hands on him, voices floating around him, yet he couldn’t make sense of anything. Then he heard someone screaming. It was a painful sound, and it made his head hurt.

_Is… Is that me? Am I screaming?_

But then his eyes seemed to settle on a prone figure lying in front of him. He could see nothing but a green smear, but he knew who it was. The screaming stopped.

Mark tried to crawl forward, yet found he couldn’t move. Another wave of searing heat and pain consumed him, and his vision went black for just a brief second. When it returned, Jack was gone.

_N-No, I can’t… I can’t leave him,_ he thought desperately. Yet unbeknownst to him, his thoughts spilled from his mouth in shaky sobs.

_I can’t… not yet… no… J-Jack…_

His vision faded again, and this time it didn't return.

 

He woke to someone shaking him. There was a hand on his shoulder, and the warmth from it spread throughout his entire body. His eyes moved beneath his eyelids, and a small groan escaped him. He rolled his head towards the hand and frowned.

_I don’t want to get up. I’m so tired… Plus I don't want to know if I'm dead or not. God, just let me sleep._

“Mark,” said a voice gently. “Mark c’mon, it’s time to wake up.”

Mark’s eyes popped open. Immediately he looked to the owner of the voice, and his heart did a flip.

_Fuck sleeping. This is better._

“Jack…”

The Irishman nodded, his freshly washed green hair bouncing with his movements. “The one and only,” he replied quietly.

Mark blinked, unable to speak. Too many emotions were flooding his system, some of them escaping in the form of tears in his eyes. Without a word, he sat up and pulled Jack into a crushing hug, burying his face in the Irishman’s shoulder. He felt one of Jack’s arms wrap around his shoulders, and then he too buried his face in Mark’s shoulder.

"Am I dead?"

Jack chuckled softly. "No, no you're not."

Mark let out a breath and tightened his grip on the Irishman.

“I thought you were going to die,” Mark whispered into Jack’s shirt, inhaling the scent of laundry detergent and disinfectant.

Jack shook his head against Mark’s shoulder. “Me too. Then I thought I was going to lose you.”

Mark furrowed his brow and pulled back to peer into Jack’s face. “What’d you mean?”

“The serum? That Daryl gave you? It’s a killing tool.” Jack bit his lip and tried to blink away his rapidly growing tears. “If the paramedics hadn’t been there, you would have died. There’s no doubt about it.” He dropped his head. “And it was all my fault. I tried to save you, but ended up putting you in more danger. God Mark, I’m s-”

“Don’t say it.”

Jack blinked. “What?”

“Don’t say ‘sorry’. Don’t you dare.” Mark pulled him back in for another embrace and sighed. “I’m sick of you apologizing for things you don’t need to. Just stop.”

The Irishman inhaled sharply and stared over Mark’s shoulder at nothing. For a moment he did nothing, except try to absorb Mark’s words. After a minute or two he finally sighed, relaxed, and hugged Mark back. Jack closed his eyes and nestled against Mark’s warmth.

“...Okay.”

And they stayed like that for the next ten minutes.


	30. FINAL

It took a little while, but they both managed to collect themselves. They pulled away from the embrace and looked around, each of them fidgeting a bit awkwardly.

Mark ran a hand through his hair and looked around.

“So,” he said after clearing his throat. “Where are we?”

Jack rubbed his damaged arm, which was in a proper sling, and settled in a chair that was by Mark’s bed.

“The hospital, one of the nicer ones in the center of town. Apparently you’re a regular.” Jack chuckled as Mark continued to analyze the room.

The detective was lying in a bed, much like the ones he’d been in before, with the safety rails on the side and all. Plus his torso was slightly elevated and took away some of the pressure on his head. He had an IV in each arm, and he felt pretty light-headed, like he was hopped up on painkillers or something.

The room around him was pretty bare, except for all the medical equipment and two chairs, both of them on the right side of the bed. Jack sat in the one closest to him.

Mark scoffed. “Yeah, I’ve been in here twice in the past week.”

Jack raised a brow. “Seriously? Why?”

The detective explained to him how he came in to get his back and stuff looked at when he'd gone to the station after the car accident, and then he told him about how he’d been stabbed by Felix while looking for him.

Once Mark finished recounting his incidents, Jack dropped his head and stared at the floor.

“You… You went looking for me?”

“Of course I did. I wasn’t about to let you get killed in my place.”

“But,” Jack lifted his head met Mark’s gaze. “They were going to kill me anyway. I’d already told you too much. It was inevitable.”

Mark chuckled and motioned for Jack to come closer. “Come ‘ere.”

Jack hesitated but eventually scooted his chair closer until his knees touched the bed. As soon as he settled back into his seat, Mark reached for his hand. The Irishman let him take it, incredibly confused. The detective gripped Jack’s hand firmly yet gently. His thumb ran lightly across the knuckles of Jack’s fingers.

The Irishman felt his heart jump.

“Listen,” Mark started, his eyes on their clasped hands. “I don’t know what’s happening, but, all I know is that I will _never,_ let anybody hurt you again. I’m not entirely sure what that means, but…” He lifted his gaze and looked Jack dead in the eye. “I can’t bear the thought of you being in pain. When I saw you, after I… after I said those god-awful things to you, and then after I _shot_ you, I just couldn’t handle it. God, and I don’t know why either.”

Mark closed his eyes and chuckled. Jack watched him, his eyes big as the detective shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” Mark continued, going to pull his hand away. “I shouldn’t have told you that. You probably think I’m crazy.”

Jack tightened his grip on Mark’s hand, not letting him pull it away.

The detective paused and gave Jack a surprised look. The Irishman took a deep breath and searched Mark’s face.

“It’s okay. Really, it is. It’s… It's comforting. Reassuring. Please don’t apologize for that. And I don’t think you’re crazy. I actually...”

He shifted his gaze to the side and bit his lip. “It's something that Nate said. I was really confused when he mentioned it, but now...”

Mark furrowed his brow. “What did he say? What was it about?”

“Well, me. Something I said while injected with truth serum.”

The detective raised a brow expectantly. “And?”

Jack let out a breath and glanced at him. _Just tell him, damnit! Tell him fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid._ He averted his gaze again.

“A-Apparently I said that I… that I was in l-”

 

The door to the room suddenly burst open, and both Mark and Jack physically jumped. Mark glared at the person who had just barged in while Jack shrank in his chair.

Mark’s eyes widened.

“Ken?”

The burly chief took a step back, obviously not expecting Mark to be awake.

“Mark! Oh thank god, good to see ya still with us.” He chuckled and folded his arms over his chest.

Mark eyed him warily, then glanced at Jack. The Irishman was clearly trying to make himself smaller in his chair. Mark furrowed his brow in worry and squeezed Jack’s hand.

Across the room Ken sighed. “I knew it.”

The half Korean’s eyes swept back to Ken. “Knew what?” he asked warily.

The chief motioned at their hands clasped together. “That there was something going on here.”

Mark’s eyes widened, and Jack jerked in his seat.

“That’s not-” Mark tried.

“W-We aren’t-” Jack stuttered.

Ken laughed as the two of them looked at each other, panic written all over their faces.

“Alright nobody agree all at once.” He continued to chortle as he wiped away a tear of laughter. Mark glared at him while Jack looked away, his face bright red.

Then the chief seemed to suddenly sober up. “I actually came here lookin’ for you, McLoughlin. Doctor says you shouldn’t be moving.”

Jack looked up at Ken with a somewhat pleading frown. “I-I know, but, when I heard them talking about waking Mark up, I knew it wouldn’t be a pretty sight if he woke up without someone he recognized.”

“Oh? And how do you know what’s best for him?”

Mark caught the bite in Ken’s tone and shot him a warning glance. _In Ken’s eyes Jack is still the criminal who kidnapped me and then supposedly died. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t thrown the poor guy in a cell._

Jack glanced up at Mark before looking back down at his knees.

“That’s how the drug works," Jack said. "It disorients you if you happen to live through it.” The Irishman’s voice had started to grow tight and he cleared his throat after he was finished speaking.

Mark squeezed his hand again gently and encouraged him to look up. “How do you know that?” he asked gently.

Jack slowly shifted his blue eyes to Mark’s brown and bit his lip. “Because that’s what happened to me.”

 

“They… They gave that stuff to you?” Mark’s voice had gone quiet in disbelief.

The Irishman gave a small nod. 

“It was part of the training for handling the drug. We had to go through the experience so that we fully understood what our… victims, were going through.” Jack shut his eyes and shook his head as he recalled the memory. “They gave us an antidote before we could fully succumb to the coma, which is impossible to wake up from. I remember waking up, not knowing where I was, who I was, much less what happened. I went berserk, terrified and angry. Yet the second I saw Felix, I was better. Like nothing happened.”

Jack opened his eyes and looked back at Mark. “I didn’t want that to happen to you, so I came to wake you up before they did or you did on your own.”

Mark searched Jack’s face, unsure of what to say. _Thank you? I’m sorry? Fuck._

In the doorway Ken cleared his throat. “Well, looks like you did your job then. Come on, I’ll take you back to your room.”

Jack glanced at the chief then back at Mark. “Will you be okay?”

Mark nodded, then tightened his grip on Jack’s hand. “Will you?”

The Irishman looked down. “I think so. But, once I’m cleared, I don’t know. I’ll be going to prison.”

_Shit._

The detective bit his lip. “I promise you, I will do everything I can to fix this. I will see to it that your name is cleared.”

Jack smiled softly and gave him a sad look.

He wasn’t sure if it was the lighting, or just the way Jack was holding himself, but Mark thought the Irishman looked a bit paler. And thin. In fact, his cheek bones did seem a bit more prominent.

_How did I not notice this before?_

“Whatever you say,” Jack said with a gentle squeeze of his hand.

With that he slowly rose to his feet and walked towards the door, his hospital garb whispering as it shifted with his moving body. Mark let Jack's hand slide through his own before dropping it back on the bed. Ken moved to the side to let the Irishman through the door. Jack slipped silently into the hallway and walked away, his eyes dark.

Mark stared after him, his gut twisting with worry.

Ken let out a sigh and went to leave. Yet he paused and turned to Mark.

“It really is great to see you awake, Mark. For a while there it looked like we might have lost ya.”

The detective looked down at his sheet-hidden legs. “Thanks.”

“And don’t worry about McLoughlin. He’s just a little angry I suppose. Didn’t expect to get caught I guess.”

Mark held back the angry retort that bubbled up in his chest. Instead he replied with an indifferent “I guess.”

Ken nodded and stood there awkwardly for a second, then took a step backwards out the door. “I’ll send in the doc, tell him you’re awake.”

“Alright.” 

The chief shut the door and left Mark in silence.

 

_God fucking damnit._

He knew that Jack would be tried for his crimes. He knew that, expected it, hell even wanted it to happen when he first met the guy. But now, now he was pissed and desperate.

_I can’t let him be locked up. He’ll get eaten alive. Prison is no place for him._

Then there was the fact of the Irishman’s condition. How long had he been tortured? A week, more or less? God, the shit he must have gone through. Mark couldn’t even begin to imagine what Daryl had done to him. It didn’t look like they fed him either. If it wasn’t for what Nate had done, even though it was a sick game in the end, Jack would have most definitely died.

Mark shook his head and clenched the sheets. _I have to save him. Just one more time. I have to do everything I can to clear his record, wipe his slate. Or he’ll crack._ The images of Jack, beaten, bruised, shot, weeping, unconscious, all flooded his mind. The detective clenched his teeth.

_I will never let that happen to him again. Ever. I’ve got to help him before he breaks._

And so began to bumpiest ride of his life.

 

Apparently Mark had been unconscious for two full days. Daryl had given him a rather large dose of the death drug, and it took quite a bit of effort from his body to fight its effects. He was informed later that Jack had been in surgery for a good twelve hours, his chest wide open and constantly being drained and cleaned. After that he’d had several blood transfusions, and wasn’t supposed to be mobile for three days after the operation. Yet he was up and walking around within eight hours, just so he could be there for Mark.

Mark swore he’d never forgive him for risking his health like that.

 

Two days after he woke up and spoke with Jack, Mark was released from the hospital. The drug had completely evacuated his system, and his old wounds were healing nicely. He would definitely have a few new scars. Ken drilled him nonstop the day he got out, accusing him of lying to him about his kidnapping and for disobeying several orders.

Apparently Jack told the chief everything.

 

Jack wasn’t allowed to leave the hospital for another week, thanks to his little hero stunt of waking Mark up. The doctors wanted to keep him close, saying that if his wounds got at all infected, things could go very wrong. They were also aware of his situation in being a torture victim, and several mental health specialists wanted to keep an eye on him.

Yet to everyone’s surprise he healed well and brought up no red flags with the specialists.

Mark had been to the hospital everyday to see Jack. They would sit and talk for awhile, about anything and everything, except their conversation in Mark’s hospital room on the first day. That they kept swept under the rug. They did chat about what Mark had been up to while Jack was being held at the sister location, and Jack vaguely described what happened with Daryl, and then eventually with Nate as well. Each day they felt their bond grow stronger, and it both confused and scared them. But overall they were content in each other’s company.

 

“They didn’t get him, y’know,” Mark said one day as he poked at the funky looking orange Jell-O on Jack’s tray of food as it sat across the Irishman’s lap.

“Who?” Jack asked around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

“Daryl. They searched the entire area for him, found nothing. It’s like he vanished. They did get Nate though, thanks to yours truly.” He tried to get Jack to laugh at his little joke.

Yet Jack only swallowed his food and looked at the jiggling orange substance Mark was eyeing warily. His eyes became dark, as they had started to do more often. It made Mark worry about him, a lot.

“He’ll probably come looking for me. He knows I’m not dead, I’m sure of it.”

Mark had rested a hand on Jack’s tubed-up arm and squeezed it reassuringly, wanting desperately to erase Jack’s memories of Daryl. “He wouldn’t dare. He’d have to come through me to get to you.”

At that Jack had laughed, and his expression had lightened. Mark smiled with a sense of accomplishment and ran his hands through his now solid black hair. The red had washed out.

“Yeah right,” Jack had scoffed as he shoveled more eggs into his mouth.

 

The day Jack was to be released, Mark was able to go back to work. Of course he paid the consequences for his actions, and the people above Ken were ready to boot him out; fire him on the spot. Yet with the help of Ken, he was able to keep his job, but was suspended for three months without pay. But again with Ken’s help, he was able to stay on the 207 case; the case that started it all, and got paid by the hour. The day Jack was released from the hospital Mark had gone down to the station to get more evidence for his report about the 207. He was trying his damnedest to keep Jack’s involvement to a minimum without flat-out lying.

As he walked into the station, he was mortified by the sight of Jack being walked back to the cells in handcuffs. Of course he tried to stop what was happening, and it ended with Bob and Wade having to drag him away and calm him down in Wade’s office.

 

It was protocol for a person in Jack’s situation to be imprisoned until the court date, which was two weeks from the day he was released from one prison, the hospital, and locked in another.

 

Mark wasn’t sure he could handle the task that he'd taken on.

Each day was a growing ball of apprehension and nerves as he tried to work something out. He had come up with a pretty good defense, and was determined to not press any charges. He didn’t even ask for a lawyer or anything. The hearing would be small, Ken made sure of that, and Mark was convinced that he could prove to the jury that Jack was innocent. Just a victim in the whole of Nate’s plans. 

When the day of the hearing rolled around, Mark sat anxiously in the courtroom, tapping his foot. He had gone over his stance and reasons hundreds of times, yet he was still nervous. This was his only chance to save Jack. His only chance.

Everyone, which was the jury, a few people from the station, Mark, and the judge rose from their seats as the doors opened and Jack was walked in by two guards, his hands in cuffs.

Mark’s heart sank as he saw him.

Overall the Irishman looked sickly. His cheeks were sunken in, and his skin was milky white. That once vibrant green hair was dull and in need of redying. And his eyes. Those once bright, mirror-like baby blues were dark and emotionless. He looked like a total stranger.

The hearing started with the judge reading the list of things Jack was charged for. With each item Jack visibly flinched, and by the time the list was completely read, his shoulders were slumped and he looked completely hopeless.

Before Mark knew it, it was his turn to speak. He cleared his throat and stepped out from behind his podium to walk to the center of the floor.

The judge looked over a few papers on her desk and looked at him over her glasses. “It says here you aren’t pressing charges for his abduction of your person. Is that correct?”

“Yes Your Honor. He was not to blame, and did so to save his own life. I see no point in pressing charges against him for that.”

“Very well. And have you to say about his record of vandalism, theft, and murder in the first degree?”

Mark glanced at the jury, who was staring at him like a flock of vultures. He swallowed the lump in his throat before responding. 

“In terms of murder in the first degree, I have evidence that proves Mr. McLoughlin did not in fact fire the gun involved in the murder of Wayne Johnson.” He handed a file of reports and evidence to the judge. She looked through it and nodded, signaling for him to continue.

“As for the vandalism and theft, those were minor crimes. Evidence I have gathered indicates that he was only part of minor incidents, nothing worthy of time behind bars, only fines.” He handed another folder to the judge.

“Alright. And what else do you have to say for him?”

“Well he, he saved my life Your Honor.”

“Did he now?”

“Yes several times.”

The judge’s eyes lit up, and she rested her chin on her hand. She was obviously interested in such a story, no doubt bored out of her mind.

“Do tell.”

Mark took a breath and began to recount a slightly edited version of his time with Jack, how the Irishman had saved him from the first initial torture, and then cared for him after. He then explained the fact that Jack had taken a bullet for him, and then helped him through his experience of being lethally drugged. 

“So you see,” Mark finished, turning to the jury. “Mr. McLoughlin doesn’t deserve to be put behind bars. He’s a good guy.”

Mark then turned and looked at Jack, who was desperately trying to hold back tears.

“And the greatest person I’ve ever met.”

 

After his speech and a few more legal procedures, the jury left to conclude on a verdict. The next thirty minutes were hell for Mark, and his stomach just about turned inside out when the jury finally came back out. They all got situated in their seats before the judge acknowledged them.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?”

A young man sitting in the first of the two rows stood and nodded. He wore glasses and had oddly blue hair similar to Jack’s style.

“This jury, on this day, the twenty-second of the month, has concluded Sean William McLoughlin of Los Angeles, California to be…”

Mark held his breath and Jack closed his eyes.

“...not guilty.”

 

A few days later, Jack was released from the prison, once all the paperwork had gone through. By that time, the 207 case had been put to rest, with Nate safely behind bars for the rest of his life and most of his followers rounded up as well. Nate’s plan for anarchy never took off, and the city was safe. Wanted signs for Daryl and a few other members floated about the streets.

Felix and Cry were never heard from or seen again. Yet in the future Jack would receive postcards from them, telling him he should visit them in Cancun.

 

With the case solved, and Jack safely away from any prison cells, Mark was finally able to relax and ironically enjoy his suspension.

Yet he missed Jack.

The Irishman had insisted on going back to his own apartment and giving Mark his space. He claimed he didn’t want to overwhelm the detective. Mark had begged him to stick around, so that he could take care of him and get him back into a healthy state, yet Jack refused, saying he was fine and would call.

He never did.

After two days without a word, Mark became worried. _He didn’t do anything stupid, did he? Oh god what if he did? What if trauma caught up to him and he lost himself?_

With those possibilities weighing on his mind, Mark had no other choice but to pay the Irishman a visit.

 

As he pulled up to Jack’s building, he saw the lights were off. Even though it was already dark outside. He tried to buzz Jack’s door, but there was no answer. Dread creeping into his stomach, he buzzed the person on the floor below Jack. They let him in no problem, accepting the excuse that Jack was expecting him and the goof had fallen asleep before he arrived.

Once Mark reached Jack’s door, he knocked on it furiously.

“Jack? It’s me.”

Silence.

“Jack? C’mon I know you’re in there.”

Nothing.

Cursing to himself, the detective searched for a spare key. Luckily Jack was predictable enough and Mark found one above the door. He quickly unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Jack’s entire place was dark. It smelled clean enough, and there were no strange odors. Mark hesitantly closed and locked the door and removed his coat and shoes.

“Jack?”

A faint rustling came from the only hallway, where the bedrooms were. Then a quiet sniffle reached his ears.

Mark dashed down the hall and went to Jack’s room, finding the door wide open. He stopped in the hall and peered in. What he saw almost broke his heart.

Jack was curled up on the bed, in sweatpants and a t-shirt, lying on top of the sheets. His back was to the door, and his shoulders were shaking violently. He was crying.

Mark quietly walked into the room and shut the door behind him. He approached the bed and gently rested a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Hey-”

A frightened and startled scream ripped from Jack’s throat and he jerked away from Mark’s touch, rolling over onto his stomach and pushing himself up onto his hands. Mark jumped back and stared at him, his eyes wide.

“Jack relax! It’s me,” Mark said gently, holding up his hands to show him he meant no harm.

Even in the dark Mark could see the tears in Jack’s eyes. A choked sob escaped the Irishman, and he dropped his head.

“M-Mark, god I-I’m,” he shook his head. _“I’m so scared.”_

Mark’s heart broke into a thousand little pieces as Jack’s broken and whispered words pierced him. He didn’t hesitate to crawl onto the bed and pull Jack into his lap. The Irishman didn't resist and curled up in a ball, burying his face in Mark's shirt.

“It’s alright Jack, I’m here. There’s nothing to be scared of anymore.”

He held the Irishman tightly as he felt him begin to sob. Mark began to rock him gently back and forth, occasionally shushing him and stroking his hair.

After a while Jack’s sobs were reduced to soft hiccups, yet he stayed nestled in Mark’s lap. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

Mark rubbed small circles in his back. “Better?”

“A little. T-Thanks," the Irishman murmured. Jack’s voice was stuffy and rough from crying.

The detective pulled back and reached over to turn on the lamp by the bed. Jack winced as the soft yellow light filled the room.

A quiet groan escaped Mark as he studied Jack’s face. “You haven’t been sleeping, have you?” 

Jack shook his head. “I can’t. The images, of Daryl, and everything else, they j-just keep coming back. I can’t bear it. Then I just keep thinking about how he's out there s-somewhere, and that he might come looking for me. God, then I can't fall asleep b-because he might sneak in and k-kill me or worse...”

Mark sighed and pulled the blubbering Irishman to his chest again. Jack clung to his shirt and started to cry again, only this time he was silent.

The detective kept his arms around him and scooted back to the head of the bed. Once his back made contact with the headboard, he adjusted his grip on Jack and pulled back the covers and gently lay Jack down on his side, making sure his head was on the pillow. Jack stayed curled in a tight little ball, and refused to let go of Mark's shirt.

Mark then slid down to lay next to him, slipping his feet under the covers. He shifted onto his side to face Jack and grabbed each of Jack's hands. The Irishman's broken arm was out of the sling and in a cast, and he could just barely move his fingers.

A soft wave of warmth spread through Mark's body as Jack's fingers intertwined with his own.

“Jack,” Mark said gently. “Look at me.”

Jack slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times to attempt and clear his tears. He looked into Mark’s eyes as Mark smiled back at him.

“I’m right here,” Mark continued. “I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep. Nothing will happen while I’m here. I promise.”

The Irishman swallowed the lump in his throat. “M-Mark you don’t have to do that, you’ve done enough. Really you-”

Mark shook his head and tightened his grip on Jack’s hands. “No, I’m staying right here. You need sleep, Jack. And if this is the only way that can happen, then so be it. I’ll sleep here with you all night if I have to.”

 

Jack’s stomach flipped at Mark’s words. Fresh tears filled his vision and he buried his face in the pillow.

“Fine,” he said, his voice muffled. “But... But I want payback.”

Mark raised a brow. “Payback? For what?”

Jack bit his lip and disengaged his hands from Mark’s. Then he rolled over and put his back to the detective.

“Cuddle with me,” he said quietly after a moment.

For a few seconds nothing happened, and Jack mentally smacked himself. _Yeah great job you idiot. Scaring away the one person you love…_

Yet he inhaled sharply and his stomach swooped when he felt Mark’s strong arms slide around his waist and pull him close.

Immediately Jack nestled his back into the warmth of Mark’s chest and let out a breath. His eyes slipped shut at the warmth and security Mark provided.

“How is this payback?” Mark asked quietly, his breath tickling Jack’s neck.

“When you were sleeping in the guest room after I got you out of the base,” Jack said as he rested his head on his arm. “You dragged me in bed with you in your sleep. Spooned me all night long.” Mark’s arms tensed, and Jack giggled. “So now I’m making you cuddle with me, on purpose this time.”

Mark chuckled, the sound vibrating pleasantly across Jack’s back. “So you’re a cuddler too then?”

Jack shrugged, his eyes still closed. All thoughts of Daryl had mysteriously evaporated, and he felt relaxed. “Didn’t really think much of it before. But now that I’ve experienced it, I like it.”

Again Mark chuckled, and gave Jack’s waist a quick squeeze. “You tired yet?”

“Exhausted,” Jack replied, just before a yawn struggled violently to escape.

A little snort of laughter came from Mark. With his arms around Jack like this, he could feel how frail the Irishman had become. It scared him how small and weak Jack suddenly seemed. It would take quite a bit of his famous chicken and dumplings to get Jack back to a healthy weight. And rest. Lots of rest.

He reached down and pulled the covers up over them both and tightened his arms around Jack’s waist. “Go to sleep, you goof. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Jack was already falling asleep, yet he felt the urge to ask Mark something that had been nagging at him.

“Maerk,” he mumbled, his accent becoming noticeably thicker as he drifted off. “What are we?”

Mark paused and studied the situation. He had his arms wrapped around the Irishman, felt him pressed flush against his body, could feel his slow and steady heartbeat. He almost expected to feel uncomfortable. Revolted, even ashamed with himself.

Yet he didn’t.

“Well,” he started. “How does this feel? Being with me, like this?”

Jack answered immediately.

“Good. Really good. I’m so relaxed and calm. I feel safe, secure.”

Mark smiled and squeezed Jack’s waist. “Then we can be anything you want us to be. I’ll be here for you no matter what. After everything you’ve done for me, it’s the least I can do.”

Jack smiled sleepily and snuggled against Mark’s body. “Okay. I’d like that. Will y’stay ‘til morning? I'll make pancakes.”

“Of course, whatever you want.”

“Promise?” Jack felt himself slipping into sleep, his body relaxing and mind slowing. He just barely heard Mark’s response before he fell into a deep, peaceful slumber.

_“Promise.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there ya have it! I hope you guys enjoyed :3
> 
> IT'S OUT! The first chapter of the sequel is out, it's the second work, obviously, listed below.  
> Let me know what you thought. See ya later!
> 
> ~Cal


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